


Pending Further Investigation

by sideraclara (angeloscastiel)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming of Age, Community: HPFT, Harry Potter Next Generation, Multi, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 59,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7122172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeloscastiel/pseuds/sideraclara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to The Fred Weasley Memorial Scholarship</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. twenty-one shots [or] the end of an era

The world was a brilliant place, Lester Raine decided. It was – well, it was the best place in the world, wasn’t it, and that sounded a bit silly to him but it was factually sound and that was all that mattered, because science. Science was brilliant and facts were brilliant and the world was brilliant – 

 

“Shots!” roared a voice in his ear.

 

Right, yes. Shots. That was what he was meant to be doing. Shots shots shots shots. Lots of shots.

 

“Lots of shots rhymes!” he shouted in wonder.

 

“It’s hitting him,” a voice said wisely from somewhere over his left shoulder. “He shouldn’t have taken a break. Never take a break midway through twenty-one shots.”

 

It was Scorpius. Of course it was Scorpius, Scorpius said everything wisely.

 

“Y’re a wise man, Scorpius,” Lester proclaimed, twisting in his seat and clapping a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder to show his sincerity.

 

“Shut up and drink,” Scorpius said, even more wisely, and pushed a shot of Firewhiskey into his hand.

 

“What number’s this?”

 

“Thirteen,” Albus answered. There were two of him, two slightly blurry Albuses – ? Albusi? – peering at him.

 

“Mate,” Lester said seriously, downing the shot – it burned, but he thought it was beginning to burn less – “What’s the plural of Albus?”

 

“Albi,” said Scorpius behind him, and Lester frowned.

 

“I thought it was Albusi, y’know, cos Latin – ”

 

“The us is part of the nominative singular ending,” Scorpius said. 

 

“Enough of that,” Rose interrupted. “Number fourteen, Raine.”

 

“Can you pass it over?” Lester asked carefully. “Don’t trust my dox – dax – dexiter – ” He gave up. “Hand moving.”

 

Rose leaned over, a grin on her face and a shot in her hand. “Reckon you’ll make it to twenty-one, Raine?”

 

“Have to. It’s a matter of honour and…age…things.” Satisfied he’d made his point, he took the shot, and, fuelled by a sudden determination, leaned forward – he was swaying a bit, but he was fine – and finished the last six in rapid succession. The cheers got louder and louder with every shot, he was feeling amazing, he finished the last one and slammed it down on the bar and raised a fist in triumph.

 

“And Raine’s done it!” Albus crowed – Albi, there were four of them now, had he done a charm on himself to do that? And there were four of Rose, too, and Scorpius was out of his line of vision but there were probably four of him as well – 

 

The entire room was spinning. Had James enchanted it to do that? That was awfully rude of him.

 

“Is the room spinning?” he asked the Roses earnestly.

 

They frowned. “No. I’m not drunk enough. ’Scuse.” They hopped off their stools – down to two now – and made a beeline for the bar.

 

“None of us are drunk enough,” Lily said. “Except you, babe.” She leaned in to kiss him, and there was disappointingly only one of her but she tasted of vodka and lemonade and her hands were warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, and she was very definitely the best thing in his life and he wondered if he’d told her that recently.

 

“You did and I know I am,” she told him, so he must have said that out loud.

 

“I am definitely not drunk enough for you to be putting your hands all over my sister,” Albus said, and Lester could only laugh because his hands weren’t even on Lily, Lily’s hands were on him, and come to think of it why weren’t his hands on Lily? His hands should always be on Lily.

 

“Actually, it’s your sister putting her hands all over him,” Lily corrected, and Lester beamed.

 

“I was just thinking that. Like, that exact thing. How d’you do that? You read my mind.”

 

In the brief lull in the conversation, Lester became aware of a concerned face – just one face – belonging to Holly Holyoake. “You feeling all right?”

 

“Yeah!” he responded eagerly, full of bravado. “Yeah, I’m – uh oh – tha’s not good – ”

 

The shots were hitting him now, one after the other in a relentless wave of instantaneous regret. “Scuse,” he said, and hurried for the bathroom.

 

Scorpius came with him, calling out cheerily, “Let it all out, mate,” and “It’s not a 21st till you’ve had a good vom,” through the cubicle door, and thrusting a large glass of water into his hand when he finally emerged.

 

“You – ” Lester began, clapping a firm hand on Scorpius’s shoulder, “Are such a bro.”

 

“I think that’s a compliment?”

 

“Yeah,” Lester said. “Yeah. You’re like, my bro. You got my back. Best bro to ever…bro.”

 

“You had my back at my 21st.”

 

Lester chuckled. “You were sooooo drunk. You were like…off your face.”

 

“What a night,” Scorpius said fondly, and steered him back out to the bar.

 

 

Lester awoke the next morning on what he was certain was his deathbed.

 

“Morning,” said a horrendously chipper female voice in his ear. “Feeling all right?”

 

He groaned in response. 

 

“Don’t open your eyes,” Lily advised. “The black-out charm on the curtains has worn off, the light’ll sear your eyeballs.”

 

She draped what felt like a pillowcase over his face, patted his hand in what was supposedly a sympathetic gesture, and left him alone in his suffering.

 

He had absolutely no idea what had happened after he threw up the first time. There was a lot more alcohol, he knew that – how much was completely beyond him, though – and a couple more trips to the bathroom, and he must have gotten home somehow because this was definitely his bed in his flat and his girlfriend pottering around in the kitchen, but everything else was a Firewhiskey-and-vodka flavoured blur.

 

Lily was back, perched on the edge of the bed and whispering incantations under her breath. A few moments later, she said, “I fixed the curtains. It’s safe.”

 

He opened his eyes slowly to the darkened room, a tiny sliver of light coming through a crack in the curtains allowing him to make out a pajama’d Lily holding a mug of steaming something.

 

“Drink,” she ordered, and handed it over. 

 

Lester winced. “I don’t ever want to hear that word again.”

 

“Consume, then.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“One of Rose’s. Patent two-oh-three-seven.”

 

“Of course it is.” Lester eyed the concoction critically. “I suppose if any Potioneer has a vested interest in making a decent hangover cure it’s Rose.”

 

“She trialled this one after her 21st. Ten o’clock brunch with the clan and she was fine.”

 

Sold, mostly because he’d wondered how Rose had even made it out of her 21st alive, Lester took a cautious sip.

 

“Lily, this is a fucking cup of Earl Grey.”

 

“It’s not. She added fuck-knows-what to it so it wouldn’t taste like arse. Girl’s a genius.”

 

Having finished the potion, Lester had to concede that it wasn’t tea after all, but something that had gone beyond the realm of magic and into divinity. His headache was gone, the nausea was gone, and the room had stopped spinning. 

 

“Rose is amazing.”

 

“Isn’t she though?” Lily took the mug, sending it back to the kitchen with a vague wave of her wand. “She’s so useful to have around.”

 

“Not that she’s going to be around much longer.”

 

“Hogsmeade’s closer to Glasgow than London.”

 

“True,” Lester conceded. “But she’ll still be teaching. And Holly too…it’s like their lives are marching on and ours are standing still and we’ve been left behind.”

 

Lily wrinkled her nose. “I preferred you when you were hungover.”

 

“Rather than in the throes of an existential crisis? Fair enough.”

 

“You have an existential crisis three times a week.” She flopped back against the pillows, rolling over to drape herself unceremoniously over Lester and peering up at him. “You were never made to aimlessly wander.”

 

“I know.” Not wanting to dwell on his lack of direction, he reached out and threaded a hand through her messy red hair, drawing her closer and kissing her deeply. She was the reason that, though nothing in his life had turned out the way he expected it to, he was still happy, in the grand scheme of things, and wouldn’t change anything – not his shitty Glasgow flat or his rent-paying, time-filling current job as Seeker of the Wimbourne Wasps or his two wasted years as Garrick Ollivander’s apprentice – none of it, because he still had her. 

 

“Marry me,” he said suddenly.

 

“What?”

 

“Marry me,” he repeated, aware that this was not the time or place to be having this conversation but unable to stop once he had started. “Lily, you’re the best thing to have ever happened in my life. Marry me.”

 

Her deep brown eyes searched his own, her breath warm on his cheek, and he could feel her heart beating almost as fast as his own through the thin cotton of her t-shirt. 

 

“Okay,” she said, finally, and a smile broke out across her face and lit up the dark room. “Yeah, okay, I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

“No way. Absolutely not.”  
  
  
Scorpius woke to an empty bed and the distinctive sound of Albus disapproving of his sister’s life choices. He rolled out of bed with a long-suffering sigh, pausing to make a toga from his sheet (pants? no time to find _pants_ ) and prepared himself to play peacemaker.  
  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
  
Albus glanced around, looking Scorpius up and down. “ _Salve_ , Caesar,” he said eventually. “Here, Scorp – Lily has a confession to make.”  
  
  
“Lily does not have a _confession_ to make,” Lily said huffily. “Lily has an _announcement_ to make, and Albus has a _head to pull out of his arse_.”  
  
  
“I’m sure he does. Your announcement?” He paused, finally registering the presence of Lester hovering at Lily’s side. “Fuck, you’re not pregnant, are you?”  
  
  
Lily rolled her eyes. “ _Please_. Have more faith in Rose’s contraceptive potions, at the very least.”  
  
  
Albus’s frown deepened. “Lily and Lester are getting _married_.”  
  
  
“Really?” Scorpius asked, not bothering to hide his grin. “Congratulations, you two!”  
  
  
“Yeah, see, that’s the reaction we were going for,” Lily said pointedly.  
  
  
“They can’t get married before _we do_ ,” Albus said.  
  
  
“Oh.” Scorpius paused. “That’s your problem?”  
  
  
“It’s not our fault you two’ve had a three year engagement,” Lily said.  
  
  
“Two and a half,” Albus corrected. “And I’m sorry we were both _preoccupied_ with becoming _qualified Healers_.”  
  
  
“Well, you’re qualified now,” Lily pointed out. “Just elope.”  
  
  
“I will if you will.”  
  
  
“Nobody’s eloping,” Scorpius said hastily, before this could escalate further. “Ginny would never forgive us.”  
  
  
“Hmm, yeah,” Albus conceded.  
  
  
“Speaking of Mum,” Lily said thoughtfully, “We should probably go tell her.”  
  
  
“You haven’t told _her_ yet?”   
  
  
“Well, nah. Thought we’d tell you first. No…sentiment or anything.”  
  
  
“No sentiment,” Albus echoed. “Go, go, shoo. Before Mum _senses_ something and finds out you told me before her.”  
  
  
“To Godric’s Hollow!” Lily shouted, raising a dramatic fist in the air and towing Lester outside with her. After the dual _cracks_ seconds later, Albus turned his bewildered face in Scorpius’s direction.  
  
  
“What just happened?” he asked, shellshocked.  
  
  
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think Lester and Lily got engaged.”  
  
  
“I know that, smartarse. But – how? What? Lily’s _nineteen_.”  
  
  
“We were nineteen when we got engaged. No, correction – _I_ was nineteen when we got engaged. _You_ were still eighteen.”  
  
  
“Maybe it’s time we _did_ something.”  
  
  
Scorpius hesitated. “You want to have this conversation now?”  
  
  
“Sure, why not?” Albus shrugged. “I like my husbands-to-be wearing sheet togas while we discuss our futures.”  
  
  
“So…” Scorpius began. “Spring?”  
  
  
“For the wedding?” Albus wrinkled his nose. “Bit cliché.”  
  
  
“It is a bit,” Scorpius agreed.  
  
  
“Plus it’s like, almost a year away. We have to beat Lester and Lily.”  
  
  
“Tell me your motives for marrying me go beyond _beating your sister to the altar._ ”  
  
  
“I’m wounded that you would even _suggest_ such a thing.” Albus placed a hand on his heart. “We’ve been together for _eight years_ , you are the light of my life and the love of my heart, and a tiny element of sibling rivalry is _totally_ not what’s important here.”  
  
  
“A beautiful speech.”  
  
  
“We can’t all be as eloquent as you. I do have one request, though.”  
  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
  
“Please write your vows in English.”  
  
  
“You’re stifling my linguistic creativity.”  
  
  
“November.”  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“Let’s get married in November.”  
  
  
“Any particular reason?”  
  
  
“It’s quiet at Mungo’s. Easy to get time off. And we can spend Christmas as a _married couple._ ”  
  
  
“Yeah, all right. The twentieth? That’s a Saturday.”  
  
  
“November twentieth,” Albus repeated. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”  
  
  
Scorpius felt a smile spread across his face. “Fuck, Al. We’re getting _married_.”  
  
  
“For real. We’re for real getting married. Now shut up and kiss me.”  
  
  
Scorpius was only too happy to oblige.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
Scorpius had to admit, one of the most exciting things about actually making some decisions regarding his wedding was being able to give his mother an answer to the question she had been greeting him with every Sunday for the past two and a half years when he came by for lunch.  
  
  
“Scorpius!” she said, as if it had been months rather than a week since she last saw him, “How are you? Work going well? Have you and Albus set a date yet?”  
  
  
“November twentieth,” he told her, returning her hug and gasping when it suddenly tightened.  
  
  
“Oh, you have! November twentieth! That’s so soon – are you sure you can get everything organised in time? Now, you know I’m only too happy to help – actually, Ginny and I have been talking for a while and we’ve got _plenty_ of ideas, you need to sit down with us sometime and go through them – oh, Draco, Albus and Scorpius have set a date!”  
  
  
Astoria finally released him, and Scorpius straightened to shake his father’s hand.  
  
  
“You have?” Draco asked. “When?”  
  
  
“November twentieth,” Astoria said, before Scorpius could get a word in. “That’s a Saturday, isn’t it, Scorpius? We’ll have to send out invitations soon – we’ve got family coming in from abroad – ”  
  
  
“I’m sure Scorpius and Albus have this well in hand,” Draco interrupted, steering Astoria through into the dining room. “Don’t you?” he added over his shoulder.  
  
  
“Well,” Scorpius said carefully, somewhat terrified of the bundle of enthusiasm his normally austere mother had become, “I’m sure there are a few things Mum could help us with…”  
  
  
“Oh, wonderful!”  
  
  
“Ginny might be a bit distracted though,” Scorpius warned her. “Lily and Lester just got engaged.”  
  
  
“Lily and Lester?” Astoria repeated. “Isn’t Lily a bit young?”  
  
  
“She’s older than Albus was when we got engaged.”  
  
  
“Well, you two _were_ very young,” Astoria said, suddenly stern. “If it were anyone else, I’d say _too_ young.”  
  
  
“I’m glad to know we’re your exception, Mum.”  
  
  
“Only because you’ve been together such a long time. How long has it been for Lily and Lester?”  
  
  
“Coming up four years, I think.”  
  
  
“Seems like much less than that. I _must_ catch up with Ginny, I haven’t seen her in weeks…Does she know you’ve set the date?”  
  
  
“Not yet. You have first rights of knowing.”  
  
  
“Oh, Scorpius, that’s lovely of you.”  
  
  
Conversation turned briefly to gossip about family friends and kids who Scorpius supposedly played with as a boy (who Scorpius could never remember, and who were inevitably doing _far_ worse in life than he was, as Astoria was only too happy to point out) before the topic switched to work. Scorpius had made a habit of getting lunch with his father every Wednesday since he started Healer training (an attempt on both their parts to improve a relationship that had been, until then, based on a stiff sort of cordiality, and endorsed wholeheartedly by Astoria) so he was up-to-date with the assorted woes of being a first-year attending Healer at St Mungo’s. Astoria, however, asked for a full run-down of his week, no doubt hoping Scorpius would regale her with tales of his skillful, life-saving Healing abilities. He didn’t have any of those; what he did have, however, was a veritable treasure trove of _gross_ stories.  
  
  
“And we had a guy come in on fourth, _completely_ drunk, and he’d manage to curse off his – ”  
  
  
“Sounds like you’ve had an eventful week,” Draco interrupted hurriedly, having already heard the story and feeling it was prudent to stop his son there.   
  
  
“Never a dull moment,” Scorpius said cheerfully. “Long may it continue.”  
  
  
“It’s wonderful to see you so happy,” Astoria said, and before Scorpius could respond she’d pushed back her chair, hurried round the table and hugged him tightly.  
  
  
“Yeah – thanks, Mum,” he gasped.  
  
  
“I’m just – so _proud_ of you, I know it hasn’t been smooth sailing – ”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Scorpius said awkwardly, remembering his train wreck of a first year in training – when suddenly nothing came easily to him anymore and he failed more times than he succeeded, when his relationship with Albus was still on the rocks after the mess of seventh year, when his support network was gone and his anxiety threatened to drown him, when he was falling apart in every way possible and he was on a cocktail of potions that Rose was brewing for him just to get through the day, and it wasn’t until Rose nearly got kicked off her course (because she was breaking every rule in the book, supplying them to him) and the supervisors at Mungo’s intervened that he realised what he was doing. In reality, Albus’s proposal was nothing of the sweet, romantic gesture they had both made it out to be to friends and family, but a last-ditch, desperate attempt to get them back on track when Scorpius was hitting rock bottom and Albus couldn’t cope, and they were one argument or one late-night bender away from parting ways forever and they both knew it, and they clung to the prospect of a happy future like dying men clinging to their last hope of life.  
  
  
Somehow, they had made it. _He_ had made it, and the sheer, simple impossibility of that fact hit him full force as his mother threatened to squeeze the life out of him.  
  
  
“I should – ” Scorpius waved his hand vaguely. “Get home.”  
  
  
“Oh, of course,” Astoria said hurriedly, releasing him. “You’ve got a lot to sort out – I’ll send Ginny an owl this afternoon, you and Albus have Thursday afternoons off, don’t you? I may just pop by and run you through some ideas – ”  
  
  
“We’ll be in touch,” Draco summarised.  
  
  
After a brief goodbye to his parents, Scorpius hurried back to his flat – in enough of a rush that he slightly botched his Apparition and lost his bootlaces –strode over to where Albus was sitting reading medical journals, and kissed him without preamble.  
  
  
“Hi,” Albus said when they eventually broke apart. “What prompted that?”  
  
  
“No idea,” Scorpius replied matter-of-factly, vaulting over the back of the sofa to settle down beside him. “Just…thanks. For never giving up on me.”  
  
  
“I couldn’t if I tried.” Albus shuffled a bit until he was lying back with Scorpius’s head on his chest, his heart thumping steadily, comfortingly, through his shirt. “I tried living without you once, remember? Lasted a week.”  
  
  
“We were dumb in seventh year.”  
  
  
“We’ve always been a bit dumb.”  
  
  
“At least you never had a potion dependency.”  
  
  
Scorpius felt Albus’s heart speed up at the comment, which he had meant as offhand. Nearly three years on they still tiptoed around the issue, long after every other mistake and fuck-up was resigned to their endless, colourful romantic history, and it was that more than anything else that drove home to Scorpius what he’d put Albus through.   
  
  
“Look at me,” Albus said quietly.  
  
  
He did.  
  
  
“You fucked up. I don’t care. I’ve fucked up more times than I can count and you’ve always been there for me. You were never a burden to me. You never will be. It’s my fucking _honour_ to carry you through the shit you can’t get through on your own, Scorpius Malfoy.”  
  
  
Words didn’t fail Scorpius often, but they failed him then. He kissed Albus instead, trusting in his touch to convey everything his words could not.  
  
  
“Feeling better?” Albus asked when they broke apart.  
  
  
“You always know what to say.”  
  
  
“High praise from the linguist.”  
  
  
“I mean it.” Scorpius inched forward until he was close enough to make out the kaleidoscope of greens in Albus’s eyes. “I don’t believe in a God, but if I did I’d thank him every day for putting you in my life, in whatever capacity. Putting you on this _earth_ , because you make it infinitely brighter just by existing.”  
  
  
“And you claim _I’m_ the one who always knows what to say.”   
  
  
“You say what needs to be said and what needs to be heard. My words are…” He paused, wrinkling his nose, “ _Flowery_.”  
  
  
“I like your flowery words.” Albus closed the infinitesimal space between them, his kiss soft and gentle. “Mind you, I like everything about you. I’m a bit biased.”  
  
  
“I’d be worried if you weren’t, future husband.”  
  
  
“ _Future husband,_ ” Albus echoed. “Does that mean you’re going to take my name? Scorpius Potter sounds a bit naff.”  
  
  
“Almost as naff as Albus Malfoy.”  
  
  
“ _Sacrilege_.”  
  
  
“We could combine them. Malpott.”  
  
  
“Pottfoy.”  
  
  
“Healers Pottfoy and Pottfoy,” Scorpius deadpanned. “Elegant. Distinguished. The sort of name every patient wants to hear.”  
  
  
“They do say laughter is the best medicine.”  
  
  
“We’ll be the best Healers in Britain.”  
  
  
“In Britain? Why stop there? We can Heal the world.”  
  
  
“How philanthropic of you.”  
  
  
“I’m no philanthropist. I’m a philoscorpiust.”  
  
  
“ _Philo_ scorpiust? Are you trying to friendzone me with Greek prefixes?”  
  
  
Albus rolled his eyes. “ _Ero_ scorpiust, then. Fucking pedantic Hellenist.”  
  
  
“Pedantic is my middle name. And I really think you should put your _eroscorpiustic_ skills to good use.”  
  
  
“One, your middle name is Hyperion, two, I can’t believe you bothered to come up with an adjectival form for that, three, _yes_. How long till we go to my parents’ for tea?”  
  
  
Scorpius glanced at the clock on the wall and grinned. “Long enough.”


	3. iii. a ravenclaw and a hufflepuff walk out of a bar [or] a farewell tour of sorts

The last weekend before Rose and Holly were due to move into their quarters at Hogwarts, Rose took them for one last night out on the town.  
  
  
“You know,” Holly said, drifting past Rose’s room while fastening on a pair of sparkly earrings, “Alcohol will continue to exist even when we’re teachers.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Rose agreed, “But a few pints in the Three Broomsticks on Faculty Friday isn’t my idea of a roaring weekend.” She frowned critically at her reflection, gathering her red curls in one hand. “Hair up or down?”  
  
  
“Up, it looks nice.” Taking her cue, Holly took her wand and the handful of bobby pins Rose passed over her shoulder. Rose had always tended towards the “ponytail or nothing” hairstyling technique – and had embraced the mad potioneer aesthetic fully in their final year of training, her naturally bushy hair made even more volumous by constant exposure to steam and fumes. Sometimes she attempted to contain it by erratically stabbing it with bobby pins, but most of the time she let it roam wild and free, occasionally using it as dependable storage for quills and wands. Holly had dealt to it with innumerable products earlier, leaving Rose with a head of auburn ringlets that she was almost immediately jealous of.  
  
  
Holly herself never put much effort into their nights out – not that they went out much. Rose was an unlikely party animal, but she lived by a doctrine of “work hard, play hard” which involved keeping ridiculous hours throughout the week (when Lester moved out and convinced Hugo to take his room, he had to explain that one did not so much live with Rose as occasionally cross paths with her. Even Holly, as Rose’s best friend for ten years, seldom saw her but for the general teaching classes they had together) and hitting the New Quarter on Friday nights with an endlessly circulating group of classmates and Potioneer’s Guild associates. She spent Saturdays hung over and asleep, and Sundays doing all the things she didn’t have time to do during the rest of the week – laundry, for example, or chores, or eating enough vegetables to ward off scurvy, or assuring her family she was still alive.  
  
  
Holly, by contrast, had settled into a grandma routine within a few weeks of their first year – early nights and earlier mornings, cooking and grocery shopping with Lester, evenings wiled away in front of the fire with the cat, kicking her slippered feet idly in the air while she read over her course notes. Things were a bit lonelier in third year, after Lester had moved out and taken the cat with him (Tybalt, while sometimes allowing Holly to share proximity with him, was nevertheless very much a one-man cat, and had accompanied Lester to Ollivander’s on more than one occasion) leaving Holly with two Weasley siblings incapable of a normal sleeping pattern or decent dietary habits. Rose had always been the natural leader of their group at school, and she still spent inordinate amounts of time with Lester or the boys helping them through the myriad of issues they seemed to face, but she was incapable of looking after herself. (Actually, Holly reflected, she’d always been a bit like that.)  
  
  
Holly was always Rose’s first choice of wingwoman or drinking buddy, but seldom took up the offer – she enjoyed the finer things in life (‘the finer things’ being bed, onesies, and perfectly spiced chai tea) and had a mild alcohol intolerance to boot, but every now and then, when the stars aligned and studying had gotten too much or the sight of their four walls became unbearable, and Rose came home early with a bottle of rosé (she appreciated the pun, Holly appreciated the wine) Holly would don a dress and hit the bars. Tonight, however, had been pencilled into their calendars since they’d found out their official move-in date (August 16, giving them two weeks for lesson preparation, curriculum setting and timetabling before the students arrived.)  
  
  
“So we don’t have Floo Network fireplaces in our offices unless we’re Head of House or other senior staff,” Rose mused, now pouting in the mirror as she applied mascara, “And nobody lives with a partner at Hogwarts. How does that work? Is everyone celibate by default? How do you even _meet_ people? You can’t exactly bring them home with you – unless you want to send them on a walk of shame through a castle full of gawking teenagers. ‘I had fun last night, hope you can make your way back to the staffroom Floo.’”  
  
  
“Well,” Holly said wryly, “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”  
  
  
“When there’s a will, there’s a way,” Rose decided. “So, where should we head first? I’m thinking we start out at the Phoenix – their happy hour lasts till seven, and the boys said they’ll come by for a couple drinks after work – then maybe Skrewt’s? Or James’s…then again, there’ll probably be screeds of newly-seventeen Hogwarts kids there, and I don’t want to face them two weeks later as their teacher when they’ve seen me dancing on tabletops.”  
  
  
“Unicorn?” Holly suggested.  
  
  
When the New District took off, it didn’t take long before entrepreneurial young witches and wizards realised the opportunities to be had from opening wizarding Britain’s first gay bar. Owned and operated by their former classmates, Logan Fenwick and Abigail Linworth, it had opened its doors only a few months after they all graduated Hogwarts and quickly became the hub of the burgeoning LGBTQA community. It started out as a simple bar and nightclub, but now nearly three years later it was a café by day, hosting various events and meetups for various LGBTQA organisations, and had a number of upcoming young artists perform by night – it was the home of singer/songwriters, eclectic musicians, spoken-word poetry and performance magic. Rose was an early investor (aware of her comfortable financial position, she had a tendency to throw Galleons in the direction of anyone who looked like they needed it or to support a cause she felt strongly about – often at the expense of her own groceries) and she split her time equally between it, their flat, the Ministry, and various apothecaries and brewers. Holly was a member of the MagiQ group Rose had founded with the help of Abigail and Alfie Harrison, but she wasn’t particularly active in it. There had been a grand total of one other person who identified as ace, and she found him dull, irritating and downright offensive (he was of the belief that those identifying as bi or pan were being “greedy,” and that sexual attraction in general was “bestial” and “primitive.” Rose kicked him out after six weeks.)  
  
  
“Hmm,” Rose said thoughtfully to this suggestion. “Actually, yeah. I’m feeling the ‘dance with cute ladies’ vibe tonight.” She turned, picking up her glass of wine and perching on the bed beside Holly. “I don’t want to abandon you, though. This is _our_ night.”  
  
  
“It’s fine,” Holly assured her. In truth, by the time Rose was ‘on the prowl,’ (her words, not Holly’s) on any given night out, Holly was usually ready to go home anyway. It was an arrangement that had always worked to their advantage, and in truth, the idea of staying out all night dancing was a daunting one. They would have their bonding time, and then Holly would head home and be tucked up in bed while Rose continued to take the New Quarter by storm.   
  
  
It was still relatively early by the time they were dressed and ready, so with characteristic impulse Rose Apparated them to Brighton for fish and chips on the beach.  
  
  
“I can’t believe it’s nearly here,” she said, once they were settled on the sand gazing out at the water. “In a month’s time, classes will have started. We’ll be teaching. Us. Three years of studying and I still don’t think I’m prepared.”  
  
  
“You’re starting out as an assistant teacher,” Holly pointed out. “Llodewick’ll have your back. Aren’t you starting out with the wee ones anyway?”  
  
  
“First through third year,” Rose confirmed, nodding. “That’s an even split – six classes each, and it means I won’t be teaching the OWL and NEWT years.”  
  
  
“That’s more than me. I’ve got five.”  
  
  
“Third through seventh year though.”  
  
  
“Don’t remind me.” Holly snagged a handful of chips. “I’ll be teaching kids who were third years when we were at school. In seventh year. _Pranking_.”  
  
  
“Maybe they won’t remember us,” Rose suggested cautiously.  
  
  
“We left a pretty big legacy.”  
  
  
They fell into a contemplative silence. Holly threw chips at advancing seagulls.  
  
  
The shadows lengthened and the sun sank steadily towards the horizon before Rose, with perfect priorities, leapt to her feet with a yelp. “Happy Hour at the Phoenix finishes in fifteen minutes, come on.”  
  
  
She held out a hand and Holly just managed to grab it before Rose turned on the spot, Apparating them back into Diagon Alley and teetering slightly on her heels.  
  
  
The Two-Feathered Phoenix was another new bar, in direct competition with the Leaky Cauldron for the after-work drinks crowd. It had little to distinguish it from the other bars, except for a very reasonable Happy Hour and half-price Wednesdays – factors that saw it safely into their group’s top three alongside James’s and the Unicorn.   
  
  
Albus and Scorpius were already there when they arrived, and Rose was quick to order another round before seven o’clock.  
  
  
“Are Lester and Lily coming?” she threw over her shoulder.  
  
  
“Think so,” Albus replied.  
  
  
She returned with six drinks, sliding Holly’s usual crisp pear cider across the table and doling out the others. Lester and Lily arrived just as Rose was twisting around muttering, “I wonder where the lovebirds are – ”  
  
  
“Look!” Lily called, eschewing a proper greeting in favour of thrusting her left hand at Holly and Rose. A small emerald glittered on her ring finger, and Holly let out an involuntary squeak and threw her arms around Lily.  
  
  
“It’s gorgeous I’m so happy for you!”  
  
  
“Thanks,” Lily said happily, hugging her back and beaming.   
  
  
Holly and Lily had never been particularly close – certainly not compared to their criss-crossing relationships with Rose and Lester that brought them into proximity with each other (and Lily had admitted, years later, that she had actively disliked Holly in the beginning) but they grew close out of necessity more than anything else when Scorpius was hitting rock bottom and Rose, far from her usual role as group leader or maternal figure, was supplying his potion addiction without realising fully what she was doing. Albus and Lester, as they were wont to do, asked Lily for help, but Lily was stuck at Hogwarts and, at a loss for what to do, owled Holly and enlisted her help. After coming to the realisation that they both unconditionally loved and looked out for the same people, they had not only buried the hatchet but cemented their friendship – especially the previous year, when most of Lily’s school friends were focused on starting careers or taking gap years overseas, and most of Holly’s were busy (Holly was too, but not to the same extent as tireless-activist Rose or the almost-Healer boys.) They spent a lot of time chatting endlessly over ice cream (summer) and hot beverages (winter) and Holly could now barely imagine a time in which Lily wasn’t an essential part of their group.  
  
  
“So, you two set a date yet?” Albus asked conversationally.  
  
  
“Well, no,” Lester answered. “I only just bought the ring.”  
  
  
“Good,” Albus said firmly. “Because Scorpius and I have.”  
  
  
“ _At last_ ,” Rose breathed, and raised thankful hands to the heavens.  
  
  
“Ooh, you’re finally getting married?” Holly asked. “When? Where? Is it going to be a big ceremony? Can I do the photography?”  
  
  
“Yes,” Scorpius said, ticking things off on his fingers, “Though the _finally_ is a bit unwarranted because we _have_ only been engaged for two years – ”  
  
  
“And a half,” Rose interjected.  
  
  
“And a half,” Scorpius conceded, “And it’s on November twentieth, and probably at Malfoy Manor if Mum gets her way, and again, probably if Mum gets her way, and I was just about to ask you if you could, so I’m guessing that’s a yes?”  
  
  
“November twentieth…”  
  
  
“That’s a Saturday,” Albus said helpfully.  
  
  
“I think there’s a match on,” Lily said with a frown. “We’re playing Puddlemere.”  
  
  
“You are _not_ missing my wedding because of _Quidditch_ ,” Albus said, affronted.  
  
  
“No, I’ll still be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. But my reserve’s useless.”  
  
  
“You wouldn’t miss it for the world?” Albus repeated.  
  
  
“Suck it up, Albutt, I’m not saying it again.”  
  
  
With only one sibling, who was not only a Hufflepuff of infinite kindness and patience but also five years younger than her, Holly was eternally amazed at the Potters’ ability to swing from insulting to touching and back to insulting again, seemingly astonished by the simple fact that they thought the world of the other. She didn’t know James particularly well, but from what she’d seen of him he fell into the same pattern as well. It struck her, not for the first time but with renewed clarity, how strong the bonds were that bound them all together, and that when she and Rose left for Hogwarts in two days’ time it would be the end of an era.  
  
  
“I love you guys,” she said suddenly, hopping off her bar stool to smoosh the others in a bear hug. “And I’m going to _miss_ you so much – ”  
  
  
“Holly, I’m going with you,” Rose said.  
  
  
“Except Rose because she’s coming with me,” Holly conceded, crushed against Lester’s chest with a faceful of Lily’s red mane, “But the rest of you – ”  
  
  
“You’re becoming teachers, not Azkaban inmates,” Albus pointed out. “You’re allowed to _leave the grounds_ and come see us.”  
  
  
“Let the girl have her moment,” Lily said firmly.  
  
  
“Thanks, Lily.”  
  
  
“Anytime.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
The couples parted ways shortly after ten, leaving Holly and Rose headed down Diagon Alley to the Unicorn. On the way, Rose poked her head briefly into James’s and withdrew with a dramatic whisper of “ _Seventeen-year-olds._ ”  
  
  
“Run before they see you,” Holly advised, and was left scrambling to catch up as Rose legged it to the beacon-like rainbow glow of Unicorn.  
  
  
They were in the bar for approximately half an hour, chatting over discounted cocktails (as an investor, Rose technically didn’t need to pay for her drinks, but she did anyway. Abigail insisted on half-price) before Rose hit the dance floor with a girl Holly recognised as Emma, a Hufflepuff in the year above them. Five minutes later they were kissing, and Holly eyed the remainder of her drink and started thinking about home.  
  
  
Having succeeded in catching Rose’s eye and miming that she was heading off (a gesture that had, over the years, been refined from an elaborate charade to a vague finger wiggle and a thumbs up) Holly was just shrugging into her jacket when someone tapped her on the shoulder.  
  
  
“Hi,” a smiling, dark-haired man said as she turned around, “Sorry – I hope I’m not bothering you, but I’d kick myself if I didn’t ask – can I buy you a drink?”  
  
  
“Oh,” Holly said, stunned. “Oh, well – ”  
  
  
“It’s okay,” the man said quickly.”If you’re not interested – ”  
  
  
“Oh, no,” Holly said, feeling slightly flustered, “It’s just that I’m – ”  
  
  
“Gay?”  
  
  
“Asexual.”  
  
  
The man grinned. “Hey, me too. I’m Brodie.”  
  
  
Holly took his proffered hand and shook it, feeling slightly dazed – she was so used to being the only asexual person (apart from the MagiQ douchebag) in the wizarding community that she had long given up hope of ever finding another –   
  
  
“I didn’t catch your name,” Brodie said.  
  
  
“Oh,” Holly said again, feeling her face flush scarlet, “It’s Holly.”  
  
  
“What are you drinking, Holly?”  
  
  
“Pear cider.” Holly followed him back to the bar, ignoring Rose’s look of surprise and wild “tell me later” gestures. “What do you do, Brodie?”  
  
  
“I’m a teacher. I’ve been at Beauxbatons for the past four years, but I’ve got a new position at Hogwarts. Heading up there on Sunday, actually.”  
  
  
“Really?” Holly asked eagerly. “Me too! Well, not the Beauxbatons part, obviously, but I’m starting at Hogwarts – ”  
  
  
“What’s your subject?”  
  
  
“Arithmancy.”  
  
  
Brodie whistled. “That’s impressive. I failed my Arithmancy NEWT.”  
  
  
“What do you teach?”  
  
  
“Used to be Charms, at Beauxbatons, but I’ve landed the Runes job at Hogwarts. Head of Hufflepuff as well, there’ve been a lot of staff retiring.”  
  
  
“Babbling and Sinistra left as well?”  
  
  
“Yeah, I think Professor Sprout leaving had a bit of a domino effect. I think it’s going to be good for the school– new faces, new ideas, all that. I graduated in 2018 so I’m not sure what it’s been like since then, though.”  
  
  
“What’s Beauxbaton’s like?”  
  
  
“Huge. I was one of three Charms teachers, and of course they don’t sit exams until sixth year so there are more students continuing with it to a higher level. It’s an excellent school – but I’m excited about teaching in English. Nothing like trying to teach summoning charms to a bunch of kids who keep mocking your tenuous grasp on the French language.”  
  
  
They talked for another half an hour, about Hogwarts and teaching and the year to come, before Holly caught herself stifling a yawn. Brodie was quick to notice.   
  
  
“I’m sorry – I’ve kept you here too long – ”  
  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Holly said quickly, cursing her elderly sleeping habits. “I’m not really that tired – ”  
  
  
Another yawn betrayed her, and she risked a glance over at Rose, who showed no signs of wanting to leave.  
  
  
“I should…” Holly gestured vaguely in the direction of her flat.  
  
  
“Are you walking?” Brodie asked.  
  
  
“Yeah, I’m only like, ten minutes down the road.”  
  
  
“I’ll walk you.”  
  
  
“No, really, it’s fine…” Her protests were halfhearted, though, and Brodie knew it.  
  
  
“I insist. Besides, I like talking to you.”  
  
  
“Oh.” Holly beamed. “I mean – I like talking to you too. Let’s just – ” She waved to the door.  
  
  
Once out in the cool evening air, Holly’s mind cleared enough to resume their previous conversation about the nature of education.  
  
  
“Subject-specific content is just the tip of the iceberg,” she continued, “And teachers have an invaluable role in the lives of their students that goes far beyond just getting them through exams, you know? There’s definitely a place for those sorts of teachers in a school, but it’s never been the kind I intend to be – ”  
  
  
“Exactly, exactly. Especially the nature of wizarding schools, which are residential and have an entirely different set of pastoral needs. I mean, it’s essential for all schools to have support networks in place for their students, but it’s especially important when those students are away from home.”  
  
  
“Did you have much of a support role at Beauxbatons?”  
  
  
Brodie scrunched his face in thought. “Sort of? I was the go-to teacher for the British kids – there are a few families who traditionally send their kids to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts, though most of them didn’t have worse problems than _Monsieur Hall, I suck at French_. I couldn’t really help them with that.”  
  
  
“I’m sure your French wasn’t that bad.”  
  
  
“To French ears, it was. I’m theoretically fluent.”  
  
  
“How many languages do you speak?”  
  
  
“Speak? Two. Read? Six or seven, I think. That’s including Runes, of course. And Greek, Latin and German.”  
  
  
“You should meet my friend Scorpius, I think he knows eight.”  
  
  
Brodie let out a low whistle. “I recognise the name. Is he a Malfoy?”  
  
  
“Yeah, and he’s a linguistic genius. He’s the only reason any of us passed NEWT Ancient Runes, he got top scholar in ’24.”  
  
  
“He didn’t apply for the teaching job, did he?”  
  
  
“No, he’s a Healer.”  
  
  
Before Holly knew it, they’d reached the front door of her flat. “You don’t want a cup of tea or anything…?” she asked, fishing around for her keys.  
  
  
“No, it’s fine, I’ll let you get to bed. We could grab a coffee at the Three Broomsticks on Sunday though, if you like?”  
  
  
“That would be lovely.”  
  
  
“Good. Well, I’ll see you Sunday, then – around eleven?”  
  
  
“Sounds good. It was nice to meet you, Brodie.”  
  
  
“You too, Holly. Sleep well.” He gave her a parting smile and headed back down the rickety staircase, and it struck Holly that maybe the move to Hogwarts wouldn’t be as lonely as she feared.


	4. iv. day one of forever [or] the ladder of adulthood

There was nothing quite as sad, Rose decided, as moving out of a flat.  
  
  
They’d gotten started soon after eleven that morning, enough time for Rose to down her new hangover potion and two cups of coffee and to stand back, hands on her hips, and survey the kitchen.  
  
  
“We have a lot of shit,” Holly said, coming up behind her in a dragon onesie and taking a contemplative sip of her tea.  
  
  
“We do have a lot of shit,” Rose agreed, dragging the bin out and enlarging it until it engulfed most of the room. “I figure we can just do one _evanesco maxima_ on this thing once it’s full, rather than Vanishing every bit of rubbish as we go.”  
  
  
“Rose, you just engorgio’d every bit of rubbish already in there.” Holly leaned over the edge of the bin, withdrawing with a grimace. “Don’t look.”  
  
  
“I won’t.” Tucking her wand back in her pocket, Rose surveyed the bench. “Is it bad that I’m tempted to just throw all this stuff out rather than do the dishes?”  
  
  
“Yes,” Holly said firmly. “Do your dishes. And I mean yours, because I did all mine last night.”  
  
  
“Last night?” Rose repeated. “When’d you have time to do that?”  
  
  
“Well, yesterday afternoon. I’m going to go pack up my room while you do that.”  
  
  
Rose was decent enough at household spells that the dishes wasn’t too arduous a task, but clearing out the fridge certainly was.  
  
  
“What’s this?” Holly asked, gingerly pulling out a black, wizened vegetable.  
  
  
Rose frowned. “I think that was a courgette. Maybe.”  
  
  
“When was the last time you bought courgettes?”  
  
  
“Er. Maybe February?”  
  
  
“It’s August.”  
  
  
“Yes it is.” Tossing the offending vegetable into the bin, Rose dove deeper into the fridge. “Ew. I think we have you to blame for the milk that went off in June, Holly Holyoake.”  
  
  
“Burn it.”  
  
  
“I wouldn’t recommend that.” Rose levitated the bottle out, trying not to look closely at the separated yellow substance within, and sent it into the bottom of the bin. “I’d have made you get it, but knowing your charm work you’d have dropped it everywhere.”  
  
  
“Best for all involved if I just…” Holly started creeping backwards, until Rose grabbed her by one fleecy sleeve.   
  
  
“Nuh-uh. You can pack up the pantry.”  
  
  
“Are we leaving anything for Hugo?”  
  
  
Rose snorted. “No.”  
  
  
“He’s going to starve without us.”  
  
  
“Correction, he’s going to starve without _you_. You're the one who actually bought food.”  
  
  
“What do you know about the people moving in?”  
  
  
Rose shrugged. “They’re not us.”  
  
  
It was amazing how those three words hit her, sitting cross-legged in front of the fridge wearing fat pants and an old Ravenclaw T-shirt, a soft apple in one hand and half a loaf of bread in the other. There were people moving in, people who weren’t her or Holly, who would make a home within these walls and pick at the peeling wallpaper in that corner of the hallway or step experimentally on the hole just inside the door of Holly’s room – except it wouldn’t be Holly’s room after tomorrow, it wouldn’t be filled with mugs and blankets and Arithmancy formulae sheets and a bumbling Pygmy Puff…  
  
  
“I don’t want to move out,” she said in a suddenly small voice. “Holly, I don’t want to move out, this is _home_.”  
  
  
“You’ll be fine,” Holly said, plucking the apple and bread from her hands and tossing them away. “We moved out of Hogwarts. We moved out of our parents’ houses. We can move out of here too.”  
  
  
“It’s not the same,” Rose said stubbornly. “It’s almost like we’re taking a step backwards, you know? Going back to live at _Hogwarts_. Where we have to maintain proper standards of behaviour and put on bras to go to breakfast.”  
  
  
“Yeah but,” Holly said patiently, settling on the floor beside her and peering critically at a container of leftovers, “We’ll actually have jobs. Careers, even. I feel like that’s enough of a step up the Ladder of Adulthood to sacrifice braless cereal eating at 2pm.”  
  
  
“I hate bras.”  
  
  
“I know you do. D’you think this is edible?”  
  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Their final meal that evening was a sombre affair – and it was their _final_ meal, because they had been in “we’re leaving soon, we don’t need to do groceries” mode for several weeks now, and had pieced together this particular dinner from half a loaf of semi-stale bread, an icecream container full of vegetable soup from the back of the freezer (dated July 2026) and the remains of Hugo’s birthday cake, which he had been trying to get through for the past week before graciously gifting it to the girls (“Fucking take it. This is all I’ve eaten since last Thursday, I’ll never eat cake again.”) Breakfast, they had decided after looking thoughtfully at the half loaf of bread, would be courtesy of the Three Broomsticks.  
  
  
“It’s been an amazing three years,” Holly began, leaning back contentedly and pushing her plate aside.  
  
  
“Don’t even start,” Rose said warningly. “I am not prepared for wistful reminiscing.”  
  
  
“Fine,” Holly conceded, and they got through the dishes without a single comment about how it was their last time washing up in this kitchen.  
  
  
“Dunno why you two’re so upset,” Hugo said, leaning in the doorway of his room with a bowl of instant noodles in hand. “I’d be glad to get out of this shitpile. It’s falling apart and there was a _waterfall_ in your room last month, Rose, and you get Hogwarts food again – ”  
  
  
“You, shut your mouth,” Rose said firmly, drawing her wand and pointing it threateningly at her brother. “You don’t get to cast shade at this flat till you’ve lived here at least two years.”  
  
  
Hugo reached out and patted her on the head. “I’m pretty sure you have a form of Stockholm Syndrome.”  
  
  
She swatted him away. “Just you wait. You’ll move out of here in two years’ time and be consumed with emotion.”  
  
  
“Doubt it.” He took a large mouthful of noodles to indicate the conversation was over and closed the door behind him.  
  
  
“I won’t miss _that_ ,” Rose declared, and turned to survey her room. “I’ve been packing all day. How do I still have _so much shit?_ ”  
  
  
She had stripped her bookshelf, her walls and most of her wardrobe, but there was still endless detritus littering her floor and bed. Odd socks, broken quills, lots of assorted cutlery (“so _that’s_ where all our forks went,” Holly said thoughtfully) crumpled bits of parchment, desiccated potions ingredients (“maybe don’t go near that corner,” Rose suggested as she eyed a pile of what had possibly been beetle eyes) and five single ballet flats.  
  
  
“I don’t even wear flats,” Rose said in wonder, picking a mangled blue one off the floor.  
  
  
“That’s probably why.”  
  
  
“Want some shoes?”  
  
  
“This may shock you, but I don’t have three left feet. Three left _giant_ feet, I might add.”  
  
  
“My feet aren’t big, yours are just tiny.”  
  
  
“You wear wizards’ boots.”  
  
  
“That’s just gender expression. Don’t hate.”  
  
  
“No, it’s because your feet are huge.”  
  
  
“Be that as it may,” Rose said loftily, “I still have too many ballet flats. Want to help me with all my shit? You’re all done.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Holly agreed. “Because I actually cleaned before every flat inspection, instead of _casting confundus charms on our landlord_.”  
  
  
“He didn’t notice.”  
  
  
“That’s not the point. Your grasp of ethics is tenuous at best.”  
  
  
“Ethics are for Hufflepuffs.”  
  
  
Holly sighed and went to get the vaccuum cleaner.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Rose had almost forgotten about Holly’s dark-haired gentleman friend from the other night at the Unicorn, until she found Holly herself primping in the mirror twenty minutes before they were due to leave.   
  
  
“I’m all for putting some effort into one’s appearance the first day of a new job,” Rose began, “But you’re wearing _makeup_. You never wear makeup.”  
  
  
“Shut up,” Holly said automatically as she applied mascara.   
  
  
“Who are you hoping to impress?”  
  
  
“Nobody.”  
  
  
“That hasn’t worked since Odysseus.”  
  
  
“Fine,” Holly relented. “That guy I was talking to the other night? I’m meeting him in the Three Broomsticks for a coffee.”  
  
  
“When?”  
  
  
“Eleven.”  
  
  
“So who is he?”  
  
  
“His name’s Brodie, and he’s a teacher – ”  
  
  
“He’s a teacher? Wait, since when?”  
  
  
“He’s starting this year, teaching Runes. But he was at Beauxbatons before.”  
  
  
“He’s a cutie.”  
  
  
“Yes he is.”  
  
  
“Is this a date?”  
  
  
“I have no idea. It’s just coffee.”  
  
  
“Just coffee,” Rose echoed. “So, is he ace?”  
  
  
She nodded. “He says he is. And he’s twenty-six, so he should know. Like, properly.”  
  
  
They were dancing on the edge of uncomfortable territory now, and Rose dropped the subject before they could cross it. “Well, I look forward to meeting him.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Rose didn’t have much time to dwell on moving out sadness – once they had returned their keys to the landlord, done their last checks and closed the door behind them, everything was about Hogwarts. They Floo’d from the Leaky Cauldron to the Three Broomsticks, Holly being particularly careful to brush the soot from her hair, and took a table. It was barely ten, so they had plenty of time for breakfast before Holly’s mystery man showed up (admittedly, he didn’t seem too much of a mystery, but Rose thought it was a good title anyway) and soon after their food arrived another unexpected patron showed up in the pub.  
  
  
“Teddy!” Rose called, stunned. “What are you doing here?”  
  
  
Teddy Lupin turned from the bar to grin at her. “Well well well, Rose Weasley. It’s been a while.”  
  
  
“Too long,” she said, getting up to hug him tightly. “You didn’t answer my question.”  
  
  
“I’m starting my new job,” he replied. “As are you, I believe.”  
  
  
“You’re teaching at Hogwarts? Let me guess, Transfiguration?”  
  
  
“Got it in one,” Teddy confirmed. “I’m the new assistant teacher. There’s heaps of new staff this year, they’re bringing in all the assistant teachers, and Sprout’s retirement triggered a whole lot of other retirements as well. Sinistra’s gone, Babbling’s gone – ”  
  
  
“I knew that,” Holly said. “I met their replacement. Well, the Runes teacher and Head of Hufflepuff. Hi, Teddy.”  
  
  
“Hey, Holly. You’re teaching Arithmancy, yeah? Good luck.”  
  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
  
Rose frowned at the trunk sitting by Teddy’s feet. “Wait, are you living on site?”  
  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
  
“What about Vic?”  
  
  
“She’s working on a project in Avignon. We looked into commuting, but…” Teddy shrugged. “International Flooing is a bitch.”  
  
  
“Is she over there for a while?”  
  
  
“Three years at this stage, I’m hoping it won’t be any longer. Do you know what classes you’ll be teaching?”  
  
  
“Yeah, more or less. All the first through third years, but I’m not sure what the house combinations will be yet.”  
  
  
“Yeah, it’s probably going to take the full two weeks to sort out timetabling.”  
  
  
“Probably. I’ve heard horror stories. When are you meeting with Corner?”  
  
  
Teddy checked his watch. “At one. Are you meeting Llodewick today?”  
  
  
“Yeah, just before the staff meeting. There’s not a lot to sort out, I’ve been working pretty closely with him over the last three years.”  
  
  
“I suppose you would have been. Well, I’ll leave you to your breakfast – I’m keen to get settled in. See you at the staff meeting!”  
  
  
“See you then,” Rose called after him, and turned to beam at Holly. “This year just got even better.”  
  
  
“Three recipients of the Fred Weasley Memorial Scholarship on staff,” Holly mused. “Vector can’t have thought that one through.”  
  
  
“I think she thought it through _exceptionally_ well.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
   
  
Rose’s meeting with Llodewick was pretty straightforward. She couldn’t do much about timetabling until the other teachers got started, but Llodewick handed her the timetables from the last five years to give her something to work with – “The numbers in each house fluctuate every year, so we have to tweak it a bit accordingly – Hufflepuff and Slytherin were huge last year, so don’t under any circumstances use that combination for your second year class or you’ll be teaching about seventy kids at once. We had Ravenclaw and Slytherin together last year but some of the teachers refuse to teach that combination again – apparently that’s the new big rivalry amongst the younger students, so that throws out the second year timetable. Gryffindor haven’t had a big Sorting for a good five years, so this year’s likely to be a big one – then again, the Sorting Hat likes to shit on our statistical projections, so…good luck, essentially. Here are my lesson plans from the last few years to give you some idea – you have a copy of the textbook and the Teacher’s Guide? Not the Teacher’s Guide? You can have mine – I’ve scribbled in it, but I hope they’re useful scribbles…”  
  
  
Having been loaded up with textbooks and parchment, Rose made her way back to her quarters – on the first floor, across from the new assistant Charms teacher (who had introduced herself hurriedly as Jessica Macaulay, shaken Rose’s hand, and disappeared in the direction of Professor May’s office with much swearing and checking of watch) and just down the corridor from her own classroom. She had expected to be sharing with Llodewick, but Vector had explained that assistant teachers were given their own classrooms in order to free up the timetable and allow different classes to run simultaneously. She couldn’t wait to start setting it up – that would be next week’s job, along with the timetable.  
  
  
She was on her way to the 3pm staff meeting – she would be early, but she couldn’t be bothered unpacking all her stuff, and had little else to do – when a panicked looking Holly hurtled around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of her.  
  
  
“Rose Rose Rose Rose Rose _Rose_ – ”  
  
  
“Holly,” Rose greeted, setting two steadying hands on Holly’s shoulders. “What is it?”  
  
  
“I’m Head of Ravenclaw.”  
  
  
“You _what_?”  
  
  
“I just had a meeting with Vector,” Holly babbled, arms flailing. “She made me _Head of Ravenclaw,_ Rosie. I can’t be Head of House, I’m not yet twenty-two and I’m brand new but apparently there’s nobody else – ”  
  
  
“Nobody else? What about Corner?”  
  
  
Holly shook her head. “He’s off-site this year, his sister’s sick and he has to look after her kids or something, he’s technically only teaching part-time anyway, Teddy’s in for a shock – but yeah, you have to be on-site to be Head of House and we’re – ” she gestured vaguely between them – “The only Ravenclaw staff on site this year, because Vector obviously can’t do it, she’s Headmistress, and Babbling retired which I think threw Vector a bit, and she said there are changes to the timetable which means you’ll be a bit swamped with classes, no offence – ”  
  
  
“None taken,” Rose said, feeling almost horrified that she had come so dangerously close to being made Head of House in her first year of teaching, “I’d refuse it if she offered. God. Are you all right?”  
  
  
Holly nodded vigorously. “Yeah. I’ve got two weeks before the students arrive, and Vector’s going to be helping as much as she can – she’s going to handle career advice for the fifth and seventh years, and I’ve got tonnes of meetings with her to get me up to speed on discipline and all the rest of it, but oh God. I thought I’d be like, forty before I got Head of House.”  
  
  
“You’ll be fine. Great, even. You just fast-forwarded your career by about fifteen years.”  
  
  
Holly shook her head. “I can’t believe it. I don’t even – anyway, we should be going to the staff meeting. God. Vector’s going to be introducing me as _Head of Ravenclaw_. I hope I don’t start crying.”  
  
  
Rose slung an arm around her shoulder and steered her in the direction of the staffroom. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”


	5. v. the proverbial boot [or] the only way is up

Lily was not a morning person. Lily had never been a morning person. She usually had to be bribed with coffee and bacon before she would even consider going to an early practice, and the fact that she was sitting up in bed with her reading glasses perched over her nose when the sky outside was still the pink of sunrise was the first sign something was wrong.  
  
  
“Everything okay?” Lester asked hesitantly, seeing the piles of pachment in Lily’s hands.  
  
  
“What are we doing?”  
  
  
“What do you mean, what are we doing?”   
  
  
Lily waved the parchment. “We’re broke, Lester. We’re _beyond_ broke. We can’t afford shit. There’s no way we can afford to get _married_.”  
  
  
Lester took the parchments from her. “We’re not getting married for ages. We’ll be fine.”  
  
  
“I’m in debt.”  
  
  
“So am I.”  
  
  
“I’m in debt by twenty-three Galleons. So that’s another two Galleons five Sickles I’m being stung with in interest every month at Gringotts.”  
  
  
Lester didn’t tell her how much he was in debt by. It was bad enough before he proposed, but buying Lily’s ring had pushed him further into the red than he’d ever thought he’d be, and there was a knot in his stomach all day when his statements from Gringotts came out. He’d been fuelled by a dumb kind of optimism during the past couple of weeks – that yes, they were struggling, but _something_ would surely come up to lift them out of the doldrums. _Ask your parents for help_ , his teammates had suggested when he couldn’t afford to go for a Butterbeer after the game – because apparently they didn’t understand the concept of _estranged_.  
  
  
But he was twenty-one now, and had a fiancee – a _fiancee_ – sitting beside him running her hands anxiously through her hair as she scowled at bridal magazines, and Fate was not about to drop Galleons into his lap.  
  
  
“I’m going to get a job.”  
  
  
“Lester, you already have a job.”  
  
  
“No, I mean, a proper eight hours a day full-time job. Practice is only six hours a week plus games on Saturdays, I can work full-time around that.”  
  
  
“Where would you work?”  
  
  
“There’s a Muggle supermarket down the street.”  
  
  
“You’re a _wizard_. You can’t get a Muggle job, you never went to a Muggle school, you have no qualifications…”  
  
  
“I can cast a delayed Confundus Charm on the qualifications section of the application,” Lester said, thinking fast. “I can operate a checkout, it’s not like I’m new to Muggle society, and the Ministry need never know.”  
  
  
“The Two-Feathered Phoenix is looking for a new barmaid.”  
  
  
Lester raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’m what they’re looking for.”  
  
  
Lily rolled her eyes. “I’ll apply there this afternoon.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
The supermarket down the road had had a sign taped on the inside of the door advertising for full-time positions in checkout for three weeks, and instead of giving him an application form, the girl at the customer service desk rang the manager immediately.  
  
  
“We’ve been understaffed for weeks,” the manager explained, introducing herself as Melissa and leading him upstairs to her office. “We’ve had two applications – one from a student who could only do part-time, and one from a guy who was fired from his previous position for theft…you’re not studying, are you? Or a criminal?”  
  
  
“No,” Lester assured her. “I’m between jobs at the moment.” Deciding the story he came up with on the way over was a better course of action than Confundus Charms, he continued, “I graduated a few months ago with an Engineering degree, but haven’t been able to find anything in my field. And,” he shrugged, “I have rent to pay, and I’m getting married soon.”  
  
  
“Oh, that’s exciting,” Melissa said, beaming. “When’s the wedding?”  
  
  
“We’re not sure. We need a bit of money behind us first, so I’ll work any hours you give me if you take me on.”  
  
  
“That’s fantastic to hear. Do you have any other commitments?”  
  
  
“Yeah, I play football. Games on Saturdays and practice a few mornings a week, I’m free after nine.”  
  
  
“Good, good. The shifts we’ll have you on are ten till seven anyway. Do you have any cash handling experience?”  
  
  
“I’m afraid not. I got through uni on scholarships.”  
  
  
“That’s fine, we can train you up. I can give you forty-five hours a week, days off on Saturday and Tuesday – it’s only minimum wage, I’m afraid – ”  
  
  
“Minimum wage is fine,” Lester said hurriedly.  
  
  
“Good. I’ll just get you to fill out this form so I’ve got your details, and I’ll find you a contract…”  
  
  
Lester took a moment to thank the gods he was Muggleborn – and therefore existed in the Muggle legal system – as he filled out his tax details. He claimed his brother’s school as his own and to be a graduate of the University of Sussex, knowing full well that Melissa wouldn’t bother checking up on either, and left the office with orders to report for work at quarter to ten on Thursday morning.  
  
  
He apparated to Gringotts, explaining to them that he would be getting a certain amount of Muggle money into his account weekly (from his Muggle parents, he explained, to help him with his upcoming wedding) and would need most of it converted into Galleons (save ten pounds a week, which he would use to buy lunch on his breaks at work) On his way back home he popped into a Muggle internet café, printed off some information about tax rates, and sat down at the kitchen table for some serious budgeting.  
  
  
He would be getting thirty-eight Galleons a week after tax and Gringotts’ currency conversion fees, which would take his total weekly income up to fifty-nine…His first pay would have to go straight to Gringotts to start clearing his overdraft – it wouldn’t come through before his debt increased to fifty-four Galleons, but at least it would actually be _payable_ now. If he saved thirty Galleons a week for the wedding, they’d have an extra eight Galleons a week to make things a bit easier. He’d have to wait until Lily got home before they could come up with a ballpark figure for how much the wedding would cost – he knew Ginny wanted to pay for Lily’s dress, hair and makeup, but given how much they would be spending on Albus’s wedding and the fact that his own parents wouldn’t have anything to do with it, he was uncomfortable with the idea of the Potters paying for anything else. Lily was very careful to downplay exactly how much they were struggling when she talked to her parents – they’d be throwing money her way if they knew, and she was far too stubborn and proud to accept their help. He had to admit, though, there were times last winter when he was sorely tempted to ask them – because Heating Charms didn’t last in a place as drafty and damp as this, even magical fire needed something to burn, no amount of _Reparos_ would fix the stovetop, and the landlord was on holiday in the south of France for six weeks.   
  
  
And then a sleek brown owl tapped on the window, and he pulled an official-looking envelope from its leg.  
  
  
 _Goldstein & Davies  
Barristers and Solicitors  
112 Diagon Alley, London_  
  
  
 _02 September, 2027_  
  
 _Dear Mr Raine and Ms Potter,_  
  
 _Finalisation of negotiations concerning the property of 143a Lithgow Lane, Glasgow  
_  
  
 _We regret to inform you that due to the sale of the above property, your current lease is to be terminated by October 1, 2027, and is not eligible for renewal. The property must be vacated by 10am on the above date with all possessions removed. An inspection will be held at this time to assess the return of your bond, valued at 32 Galleons, and any further costs incurred for professional cleaning will be deducted from this amount. Please refer to the lease agreement given to you upon the signing of your lease with Mr John MacDougal for further details concerning your vacation of the property._  
  
 _We apologise for any inconvenience._  
  
   
  
“You’re kidding,” Lester muttered, tossing the letter aside. “You’re _fucking_ kidding – no way, no no no no no – ” He snatched it up again. “October first – _October first_ – you’re fucking joking, oh fuck, _FUCK_!”  
  
  
The owl flew away in a startled flapping of wings as he slumped over the table, head in his hands, and tried not to cry. He and Lily had searched for _six months_ to find this place, the cheapest available rental in all of wizarding Britain, and the moment he had found a way that they could maybe, _possibly_ have some money to put aside in savings, they were being evicted.  
  
  
It wasn’t fair – it wasn’t fair that their landlord had sold the place without bothering to tell them, it wasn’t fair that the new owners wouldn’t renew their lease, it wasn’t fair they had been given less than one month to find a new place – they were paying _sixteen Galleons a week_ , did Goldstein & Davies really think they could afford to live anywhere else?   
  
  
He slammed a fist on the table, and in the reverberating silence following he realised how shallow his breathing had become. _No, no, no. Calm down. You’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. Breathe. Calm down._  
  
  
 _We’re being evicted we’ve got nowhere to go we can’t afford anything we’ll have to take more loans out at Gringotts we’re fucked and we always will be –_  
  
  
Breathe. Calm down.  
  
  
He wanted to see Scorpius, but he was already too upset to Apparate, he’d Splinch himself horribly if he tried, and he couldn’t even afford the five Sickles to catch the Floo Exchange to London, and he was alone except for Tybalt purring, oblivious, at his feet.  
  
  
He could do this.  
  
  
He couldn’t.  
  
  
It wasn’t _fair_ and it wasn’t _right_ and he had gotten a Muggle job, _why had he gotten a Muggle job_ , it was _illegal_ for a wizard to work a Muggle job, if the Ministry found out he would be fined two thousand Galleons and he’d have to go to court and they would ban him from holding a wand for six months and he would have a criminal record forever and it would be all over the papers because he was _Lily Potter’s fiance_ , and suddenly it was impossible that they would ever escape this _poverty_ that they had landed themselves in, he had fucked up so much and there was no way out –   
  
  
He was alone and Tybalt was yowling and pawing at his legs, and everything was fuzzy and tingly and he had _failed_ again, and Tybalt nudged his wand into his hand and with his last ounce of concentration he fired _Periculum_ through the open window.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
He woke up to find a familiar face peering down at him.  
  
  
“Albus?”  
  
  
“Hi, mate.”   
  
  
It took him a moment to realise where he was – St Mungo’s, and Albus was in his green Healer robes and tapping a quill against the clipboard in his hand. “What happened?”  
  
  
“You tell me,” Albus replied. “You sent out a _Periculum_ and the paramedics brought you in. They found you passed out on your kitchen floor with a concussion.”  
  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
  
“I work here, genius.”  
  
  
“No, I mean _you_. You do mental health…” He trailed off.  
  
  
“I had you brought here on a hunch.” _Tap, tap, tap_. “Lester, this is…you need to get this under control.”  
  
  
“You think I’m not trying? You think I can control this? How _dare_ you.”  
  
  
Albus didn’t meet his eyes. “Are you on any potions?”  
  
  
“You know I’m not.”  
  
  
“Formalities.” He indicated the clipboard. “How frequently are you having attacks?”  
  
  
“Define _attacks_.”  
  
  
“Just answer the question.”  
  
  
“Are you _pissed_ at me?”  
  
  
“I’ve been telling you to get help for this for years.”  
  
  
“I can’t fucking _afford_ help. I told you that. I don’t have two Sickles a week to rub together – I want another Healer.”  
  
  
“I’m the only one on, and I’m not going anywhere. Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
  
“Tell you what? This is bullshit, Albus, let me go home.”  
  
  
“That you’re struggling so much. Mum and Dad might be buying that saving up for a better place bullshit, but I’m not. How much are the Wasps paying you?”  
  
  
“Twenty.”  
  
  
“A week?”  
  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
  
“You can’t live on that.”  
  
  
“Really? Hadn’t noticed.”  
  
  
“What triggered the attack?”  
  
  
“We’ve been evicted. Lease terminating on October first. Landlord sold the property. We’re fucked.”  
  
  
“Move in with Freddie.”  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“Move in with Freddie,” Albus repeated. “James and Julia are getting a place together, so his room’s free. It’s a big one, too. It _is_ above the bar, but – ”  
  
  
“How much?”  
  
  
Albus shrugged. “It’s part of the bar premises so it’s on the same lease, I dunno what the actual rent is, but I reckon Freddie’d let you have the room for fifteen all up.”  
  
  
Lester ran a hand through his hair. “I got a job in Glasgow.”  
  
  
“Another one? That’s probably a good idea.”  
  
  
“It’s a Muggle one.”  
  
  
Albus was silent for a while. “You know what I’m going to say?”  
  
  
“Not really.”  
  
  
“I can’t in good conscience let you do that. As a Healer, as your friend, as your fuckin…almost brother-in-law, don’t. If the Ministry finds out you’ll have the MLEs on you like a tonne of bricks and that is one train wreck I do not want to see happen.”  
  
  
“Again.”  
  
  
“Again,” Albus agreed. “If Lily let you do this I’m going to have _words_ with her.”  
  
  
“She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no either. Does she know where I am?”  
  
  
“Parademics leave notes, she’ll see it when she gets home. I’m gonna write you a prescription.”  
  
  
“Don’t put me on potions.”  
  
  
“They’re mild. More stabilisers than anything else, they should help you with the panic attacks.”  
  
  
“I don’t want them.”  
  
  
“Lester, I am not even in the vicinity of fucking around.” Albus pushed a piece of paper into his hand. “How many more times do you want to be hauled in here by the paramedics? What happens if you end up with something worse than a concussion? I’m not waiting around to see you hit rock bottom, and I’m not going to let my sister see that either.”  
  
  
“I’m not _Scorpius_.” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.  
  
  
“No,” Albus said coolly. “You’re at the other extreme of the spectrum, and you don’t get a gold star for that either. Take this to the apothecary on your way out. I don’t want to see you in here again.”


	6. vi. the rollercoaster [or] love is a battlefield

“Lester came in this afternoon.”  
  
  
“Lester?” Scorpius repeated, passing Albus a mug of tea and rearranging his elbows to curl up comfortably on the sofa, “What for? You guys aren’t that close.”  
  
  
“No, I mean, he was brought in. I was his Healer.”  
  
  
“Wait, what? That’s a bit of a conflict of interest.”  
  
  
“I was the only one on.”  
  
  
“Liar. You’re not going to pull patient-Healer confidentiality on me, are you? What happened?”  
  
  
“His panic attacks are getting worse. Well, worse or more frequent, or he can’t deal with them, I don’t know, but the parademics brought him in with a concussion because he passed out. I wrote him a script but I went by the apothecary on my way out and he hadn’t filled it.” Albus ran his hands through his hair, grasping at the roots. “And Lily hasn’t said anything to me about it, which means she’s pretending everything’s okay and she only does that when it _isn’t_.”  
  
  
“I could talk to him,” Scorpius offered. “I mean, I will anyway – how long has this been going on? He’s my best mate, I should have noticed something – ”  
  
  
“Nobody notices anything about Lester unless he lets them notice it. And I don’t know what you could say to him, considering – ”  
  
  
“I’m probably his cautionary tale.”  
  
  
“You _are_ his cautionary tale.”  
  
  
“’S funny, Holly actually called it in seventh year.”  
  
  
“Holly called what?”  
  
  
“Me being a cautionary tale. It was when I was all – ” He waved his hand in a vague downward spiral – “And she told me I was going to drop out and fail my NEWTs and lose my place in Healer training and I can’t remember exactly how she described my parents’ house but that I’d be sitting in it full of regrets. I think the word _soulless_ was involved.”  
  
  
“Well, you’re not sitting in your parents’ soulless house and you certainly didn’t lose your place in Healer training.” Albus poked his name badge. “I mean, as far as cautionary tales go, you really didn’t turn out that badly.”  
  
  
“Thanks for the pep talk, babe.”  
  
  
“Anytime.” Albus leaned over to kiss him. “Are we still on for talking wedding plans with our mums tomorrow morning?”  
  
  
“Unfortunately.”  
  
  
Quite suddenly (but not all that unexpectedly) Albus and Scorpius had found the small family celebration they had originally planned transformed into an extravagance on a scale wizarding Britain hadn’t seen in years thanks to the joint efforts of Astoria and Ginny. Scorpius’s parents were always going to go all out for it – they only had him, after all, and the Malfoy name carried certain expectations – and Ginny had apparently realised that Albus was the only one of her children who would tolerate such a monstrous wedding, and had launched herself headfirst into preparations as well.   
  
  
Their current project was trying to find a celebrant willing to officiate for _them in particular_ , which was mum-speak for a gay wedding and was something Scorpius would rather not have to think about. Same-sex marriage had been _legal_ since 1862 in the wizarding world purely by way of a loophole in the law – when Muggle/wizard marriage was legalised, the previous marriage laws speaking of _one witch and one wizard_ were altered and those concerned decided it was too much effort to specify all possible combinations of magical status and gender. It wasn’t until 2007, though, that a gay couple had actually picked up on that and used it to quietly get married (quietly until the media picked up the story, and the newlywed Dean and Seamus Finnigan woke up to find themselves in the middle of a storm of controversy.) While the queer rights movements and awareness of queer issues had trickled into the wizarding world from the Muggle over the past twenty or so years, there were still plenty of old-fashioned types who would give Albus and Scorpius weird looks walking down Diagon Alley, a few who had yelled outright abuse, and, apparently, a bunch of marriage celebrants who would look two of the most well-known and influential witches in British media dead in the eye and refuse to marry their deviant sons. It did make him feel slightly better, though, that his mother had started a new column in _Witch Weekly_ entitled Bigot of the Week, which inevitably featured a few of those celebrants.  
  
  
“And then we’ve got coffee with the girls on Saturday morning,” Albus was saying, bringing Scorpius back to the present. “What nights are you on call? It’s our week for brunch with Nana and Grandad.”  
  
  
“Thursday and Friday, and I’m rostered on for Saturday night. I should finish in time for brunch though.”  
  
  
“Isn’t that a twelve hour shift?”  
  
  
“Eighteen,” Scorpius corrected with a grimace. “Three pm Saturday till nine am Sunday.”  
  
  
“I feel like I hardly see you anymore.”  
  
  
“That’s because you don’t.” It was hard not to be resentful of Albus, who worked enviably regular hours on the Janus Thickey Ward and in various other mental health programmes (he had _weekends off,_ had a set income of thirty-eight Galleons a week, and got overtime if he went over forty hours) Scorpius’s hours changed every week, and he could be earning anything between twenty and sixty Galleons depending on the roster. His longest shifts were thirty-six hours, and he was inevitably back at the hospital within a day after them. The other Healers assured him that once he passed the six month mark his hours would gain some semblance of normality (and his pay would go up – he was looking forward to that) but he was beginning to understand why his professors had always said new Healers dropped like flies in their first year on the job.   
  
  
He didn’t want to begrudge Albus that, though (especially because there was a trade-off – it was simple enough to heal a splinching. Albus was working with patients who had been in the ward since before he started at Hogwarts, and they weren’t showing any signs of improvement) so he pulled Albus onto his lap. “But I’m all yours till Wednesday morning.”  
  
  
“Best news I’ve heard all day,” Albus murmured, and kissed him until the hospital was a distant memory.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
The mothers arrived with typical maternal punctuality at precisely ten o’clock, Astoria full of the news she had found a celebrant (who wasn’t just terrified that he would end up _Witch Weekly’s_ next Bigot of the Week, but rather an active member of the queer community who happened to have recently registered as a celebrant)  
  
  
“What’s his name?” Scorpius asked, instantly suspicious.  
  
  
“Logan Fenwick – wasn’t he your year at school?”  
  
  
“Ah,” Scorpius said awkwardly. “Yes. Albus – a quick word?”  
  
  
Once they were safely behind the closed door of their bedroom, Scorpius took a deep breath. “I’m going to go ahead and assume it’s a no to Logan Fenwick.”  
  
  
“What gave you that idea?” Albus asked. “I mean, I’d personally prefer the guy pronouncing us as husbands to _not_ have fucked you, but – ”  
  
  
“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed,” Scorpius said, suddenly cool. “I’ll tell Mum to find someone else.”  
  
  
“Leave it.” Albus’s voice was bitter. “Your mum’s spent weeks trying to find someone. I don’t give a fuck. It was three years ago.”  
  
  
“You do give a fuck. You give a lot of fucks.”  
  
  
“Yeah, well, not as much as you.”  
  
  
“Are you really doing this?” Scorpius demanded, his patience quickly evaporating. “It was three years ago. And you’d _broken up with me_ , which you have a funny habit of forgetting.”  
  
  
“Yeah, because I thought we’d _gotten past that._ ”  
  
  
“Oh, sorry – was it me who got pissy just before?”  
  
  
“I can’t be fucked dealing with this right now.” Turning on his heel, Albus stalked out of the room. Moments later, the front door slammed loudly.  
  
  
“Fucking Christ,” Scorpius muttered, hesitating awkwardly in the doorway as Ginny and Astoria stared at him in surprise. “Um – Mum, Ginny – ”  
  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Ginny said hastily. “We both know what he can be like.”  
  
  
“Does he do that often?” Astoria asked.  
  
  
“He’s always been a bit sensitive,” Ginny said. “As a boy – ”  
  
  
“I’m not interested in what he was like as a boy,” Astoria said sharply, cutting her off. “I’m interested in what he’s like as the _man_ my son is marrying.”  
  
  
“Mum – ”  
  
  
“What are you suggesting, Astoria?” Ginny asked, eyes flashing angrily, and Scorpius was beginning to wish the floor would swallow him whole – or that he could just Apparate to Lester’s house and hide until things blew over. Unfortunately, he wasn’t Albus, so he stepped into the room properly.  
  
  
“Mum, it’s fine, and you know that because you’d have said something _long_ ago if it wasn’t. Can we do this another time? I need to – ” he waved vaguely in the direction Albus had gone.   
  
  
“Owl me,” Astoria said eventually, and walked out. Ginny didn’t move.  
  
  
“What are you fighting about?”  
  
  
Biting back the _it’s none of your business_ that was forming on his tongue, Scorpius shrugged noncommittally.   
  
  
“Stuff?” Ginny asked, a slight smile on her face.  
  
  
“Stuff and things,” Scorpius agreed. Then, because he was still upset and still angry and not completely in control of his emotions, “Your son’s a fucking moody shitbag.”  
  
  
“And you’re preaching to the choir.” Ginny regarded him carefully. “I know he’s difficult to deal with sometimes. But, to be frank, so are you. Don’t think for a moment I don’t know what happened a few years ago. If you want to put a rosy front on for your parents, that’s fine, but Albus has always told us everything.”  
  
  
“And you still want him marrying me?”  
  
  
“For a long time I didn’t,” Ginny said bluntly. “I saw what your addiction did to him and I was telling him to leave. But, being Albus, he proposed to you instead, and I had to make my peace with that.”  
  
  
Seeing the look on his face, she added, “I don’t think that anymore. You’ve come a long way since then, and I’ll be proud to call you my son-in-law. But I think you need to keep things in perspective, because Albus has carried you when he barely had the strength to stand, and he doesn’t owe you a thing.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
Albus was exactly where Scorpius knew he would be – at James’s, sitting at the bar with a Butterbeer and a sympathetic ear (which more often than not belonged to James’s girlfriend Julia, and who was, sure enough, listening intently to whatever he was saying)  
  
  
Julia spotted him first, tapping Albus on the shoulder and gesturing in his direction.   
  
  
“Hi,” Scorpius said cautiously when Albus turned around and Julia quietly slipped out back, “Can we talk?”  
  
  
“Give me a moment.” Albus gestured to his half-finished Butterbeer and, after a momentary hesitation, pulled out the stool beside him. Scorpius perched uncomfortably on its edge, not sure what to say next.  
  
  
“So I was a dick,” Albus began, breaking the silence.  
  
  
“Yeah, you were a bit.”  
  
  
“Bet the mums weren’t happy.”  
  
  
“Nah.”  
  
  
“They’ll get over it.”  
  
  
“Reckon they will.”  
  
  
Albus finished his Butterbeer and they Apparated in silence back to their flat.  
  
  
“I want us to sort this out. Properly,” Scorpius said firmly. “Because I don’t want the rest of our lives to be about dredging up shit we did when we were eighteen. I get that you don’t want Logan as our celebrant, but the other shit was unneccessary.”  
  
  
“I don’t mind Logan. Really,” Albus added earnestly. “We’ve seen him plenty of times since we finished Hogwarts and he’s a good bloke. It was just – you know. I’d almost forgotten about it, and then – ”  
  
  
“You’re possessive as all fuck,” Scorpius concluded. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
  
“Yeah, there’s that.”  
  
  
“I want to talk about – the other thing, as well.”  
  
  
Albus’s voice was suddenly cautious. “First year?”  
  
  
“Yeah. Your mum had a word to me – ”  
  
  
Albus bristled. “She had no right – ”  
  
  
“She’s your mum. And she had a point – ”  
  
  
“No,” Albus said, cutting him off. “No, I know exactly what she would have said to you, and she’s wrong. Me sticking by you in first year doesn’t earn me a Get Out of Jail Free card for the rest of our relationship. I’m a dick, I know that. Don’t let me get away with it just because I didn’t walk out on you. That’s a shitty standard.”  
  
  
Scorpius was silent for a while. “I didn’t think of it like that.”  
  
  
“You wouldn’t. And I have a favour to ask you.”  
  
  
“I’m listening,” Scorpius said dubiously.  
  
  
“I need you to talk to Lester for me. Because if I go over there, I’m just going to get angry at him.”  
  
  
“What am I supposed to be talking to him about? Because I’m hardly a shining example for anti-anxiety potions.”  
  
  
“Oh. No. Not about that. You need to get him to quit that Muggle job, I ran into Grandad earlier and he said the Ministry are doing a sweep over the next few weeks to find wizards working in undeclared Muggle jobs, because there’s been a real increase in incidents.”  
  
  
“And he’ll get caught and fined,” Scorpius concluded. “Right, yeah. I’ll go over there now.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
“Did Albus send you?” were the first words out of Lester’s mouth when he answered the door.  
  
  
“Well, yeah. Hello to you too.” Scorpius stepped inside, ignoring the way Lester was glaring somewhat belligerently at him, and sprawled across a ratty sofa.   
  
  
“So what’s his message? I’m not filling the script he gave me.”  
  
  
“Albus knows what he’s doing, he’s not going to turn you into me circa 2025. But that’s not why I came.”  
  
  
Lester fidgeted. “That’s not what I – ”  
  
  
“I know I’m your cautionary tale, I don’t care. I’m glad you’re learning from my mistakes, but you’re taking the wrong lesson.”  
  
  
“Can we talk about something else, please?”  
  
  
“Sure. Albus also says the Ministry’s cracking down on working Muggle jobs.”  
  
  
Lester folded his arms. “Of course he does.”  
  
  
Scorpius shrugged. “He heard it from his grandad, I doubt he’s making shit up.”  
  
  
“Look, I don’t _want_ to do this,” Lester said. “I would love to have a job that pays the bills and doesn’t leave me fifty Galleons in overdraft – ”  
  
  
“Fifty Galleons?” Scorpius repeated. “Jesus.”  
  
  
“Thank you for that assessment,” Lester said coolly. “But you see why I took the job.”  
  
  
“How much are you losing in Muggle taxes and Gringotts conversion fees?”  
  
  
“A fair amount. But it’s still twice as much as I’m getting from the Wasps, so I really don’t care. Look at this place, Scorpius. We’re living below the poverty line, I checked.”  
  
  
“What about wizarding jobs?”  
  
  
“You think I haven’t been looking? I’ve put my CV into every shop, café and bar in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade and I always get the same response. _Overqualified_. They don’t want to take me on because they think I’ll leave for something better – as if I can afford to be picky. And I can’t get into any career, because they all require one to three years’ full time, unpaid training and I can’t _afford_ that.”  
  
  
“You could work for George Weasley,” Scorpius suggested. “Help with charmwork and making his ideas reality. He pays well and you can pick your own hours – it’d only be part time, but that on top of the Wasps should be enough to live comfortably, I think.”  
  
  
“Has he advertised?”  
  
  
“No,” Scorpius conceded, trying to remember what Freddie said the last time he and Albus went round there, “But I do think he’s a bit shortstaffed. And if you went over there he’d probably give you something on the spot, I mean, you got the Fred Weasley Memorial Scholarship.”  
  
  
“We all did.”  
  
  
“You made most of that shit happen though. The spellwork. We’ll all back you up on that.”  
  
  
“I’ll think about it,” Lester said, but he looked slightly more hopeful than Scorpius had seen him in a while.  
  
  
“We’re getting coffee with the girls in Hogsmeade on Saturday,” Scorpius continued. “Want to come?”  
  
  
“First game of the season,” Lester said apologetically. “Otherwise I’d love to. Have you heard from them at all?”  
  
  
“Albus got an owl from Rose during their orientation week, apparently everything’s going well and Holly has big news.”  
  
  
“You’ll have to tell me what it is.”  
  
  
“Will do.” Scorpius got to his feet, making his way back towards the door. “Hey. Things will work out.”  
  
  
“Yeah. Hopefully.”  
  
   
  
Instead of Apparating straight back to his flat, Scorpius took a moment to wander down Diagon Alley. Last week had been a sixty-Galleon week, and while he _should_ put most of that aside for the wedding/a new flat (they were sick of the poky studio apartment they had been living in since leaving Hogwarts) there was nothing wrong with splurging a little. Contributing to the economy and all that.  
  
  
And there were _puppies_ in the window of Magical Menagerie.


	7. vii. sparks fly [or] things could definitely be worse

When the boys met Holly and Rose at the Three Broomsticks on Saturday morning, Scorpius was cradling a small bundle that at first glance Holly mistook for a baby.

 

“Well, he is,” Scorpius said, gazing down lovingly at the squirming creature in his arms. “He’s our wee baby.”

 

“It’s a dog,” Holly explained to a startled looking Rose. “Why aren’t you – walking him?”

 

“He got tired,” Scorpius said, in a strange cooing voice. “He couldn’t keep up with us on his short little legs.”

 

The puppy was adorable, Holly had to admit – a chubby, roly-poly labrador who was enthusiastically licking his doting owner’s hand.

 

“His name is Aeneas,” Scorpius told them.

 

“Of course it is.”

 

“Lemme hold him,” Albus said, and lifted the puppy out of Scorpius’s arms. “Hey pups, this is Hogsmeade. Exciting, huh? Bet you want to go sniff everything.”

 

“And pee on it,” Scorpius added.

 

“And pee on it,” Albus agreed. “Take it from me, my household cleaning spells have improved drastically since we brought this little guy home.”

 

“You guys would make great parents,” Holly said without thinking.

 

“Well, yeah,” Scorpius said, after a brief glance at Albus, “But between us, we’re short one uterus. Anyway, Rose says you’ve got big news.”

 

“Oh! Right, you don’t know yet. I haven’t seen you two in ages.”

 

“It’s been, like, three weeks.”

 

“Ages,” Holly repeated firmly. “Let’s get coffee and fill you guys in.”

 

Though it was barely a week into September, it was still slightly too chilly for Holly to want to sit outside, but Albus and Scorpius apparently couldn’t bear the thought of leaving their puppy tied up alone, so they took a picnic table with a cheerful Aeneas bumbling around them on his long leash.

 

“So, news,” Albus said firmly.

 

“I’m Head of Ravenclaw.” 

 

She’d said the words half a dozen times before, and had been Head of Ravenclaw, officially, for three weeks, but the words still made her feel giddy inside and her smile only broadened at the incredulity on Scorpius and Albus’s faces.

 

“Head of Ravenclaw?” Scorpius repeated, and she nodded and savoured the words again.

 

“That’s amazing,” Albus said, awed. “Wow, Holly, congratulations!”

 

“Thanks,” she beamed. “So far I’ve only been woken up twice in the middle of the night for misbehaving students – ”

 

“They’ve been back for a week,” Scorpius said, looking appalled.

 

“I know.”

 

“It’s Ravenclaw.”

 

“Yep.”

 

“What were they doing?”

 

“Just curfew violations, really. We were in negative points for a couple of days, but we’re in second place now, behind Slytherin.”

 

“So how’s teaching?”

 

“Amazing.” She leaned forward, eyes shining. “Better than I ever dreamed it would be, it’s so rewarding and my students are all so motivated and passionate – ”

 

“The joys of teaching an option subject,” Rose said wistfully.

 

“And I had one of my seventh-years yesterday say that she’s never really enjoyed Arithmancy until now, she just sort of took it because she was expected to, but now everything’s making sense and she’s gotten it – ”

 

She cut herself off, knowing she would keep talking forever if she didn’t, and let Rose talk about Potions classes while she played with Aeneas. Despite the constant socialising with other teachers during their orientation weeks and the way they both gravitated towards the staffroom whenever they weren’t actually teaching, Holly and Rose had nevertheless spent as much time with each other as ever and had discussed at length every single class they had taught this week. She was amazed there were even enough hours in the day for her six classes, lesson planning, meals, office hours with students, staff meetings and socialising – then again, she had also cut back drastically on her sleeping pattern. While she had managed a good eight or nine hours a night as a student, she was now lucky if she got five, and she’d had more coffee in the last week than in the rest of her 21 years combined. Most of the blame for that went to the staffroom, which was warm and cosy, full of endless hot beverages and colleagues to befriend and chat to, and quite simply Holly’s favourite place in the known world. (Further attribution of blame fell to one Brodie Hall, who was responsible for particularly compelling 2am conversation – as well as, she had to admit, a myriad of other features that she found equally compelling, especially the gentle warmth that radiated from his smile)

 

She didn’t even realise Rose had moved on from talking about her own classes until she heard Brodie’s name.

 

“What’s this about Brodie?” she asked, pulling away from the puppy.

 

“Case in point,” Rose said triumphantly. “Away with the fairies till I mention his name.”

 

“Oh, shush.” Holly swatted halfheartedly in Rose’s direction. 

 

“Holly’s got a boy-frieeend,” Albus said in a sing-song voice.

 

“I do not. He’s just a friend.”

 

“For now,” Rose added.

 

“I hate both of you. So what’s new in your lives?” she asked the boys pointedly.

 

“Not a lot,” Scorpius shrugged. “Other than Aeneas. And we’re getting Logan to officiate our wedding.”

 

Rose gave him an odd look. “Didn’t you – ”

 

“Yes,” Scorpius said, cutting her off. 

 

“Righto.”

 

“There’s no one else,” Albus said, looking somewhat defensive. “Celebrants are bigots, apparently.”

 

Holly watched Rose go into activist mode – her back straightened, her eyes widened, and she leaned forward as if she could somehow absorb and act on Albus’s words faster if she was close enough. “What did they say to you?”

 

“It wasn’t us looking, it was Astoria,” Albus said. “But yeah, she didn’t have a lot of luck until she found Logan. She’s been writing them all up in Witch Weekly’s Bigot of the Week section, if you want the full story.”

 

“I’ve never read Witch Weekly in my life,” Rose said dismissively. “But there’s got to be something we can do about that – pass a law making discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation illegal, I can’t believe there isn’t something already – ”

 

“There is for employment,” Holly offered.

 

“Employment’s the tip of the iceberg. I’ll have a word with MagiQ tomorrow, see what we can come up with – ”

 

“I thought you gave up MagiQ,” Holly said. “You handed over the presidency to Charlotte.”

 

“I did hand over the presidency,” Rose agreed. “I didn’t give up MagiQ. I’m still going to be an active member of the queer community – ”

 

“Rose, you’re teaching twelve different classes. Something’s got to give.”

 

“I can handle it.”

 

Deciding that coffee with the boys wasn’t the best time to pick this argument, Holly changed the subject. “Scorp, have your hours at work settled down yet?”

 

“I wish. I didn’t get called in last night, thank God, but I’ve got eighteen hours tonight. And I guarantee,” he added with a slight roll of his eyes, “That at least sixty percent of my patients will be 18-25 years old and drunk off their faces. The emergency department on a Saturday night is basically a post-party Gryffindor common room, but for grown ups.”

 

“I don’t think we ever set foot in the Gryffindor common room post-party,” Holly pointed out.

 

“You didn’t,” Albus conceded. “It was in fifth year, one of James’s dos. You and Lester bailed.”

 

“Sounds like us.”

 

“I remember that,” Rose said fondly. “My first Firewhiskey experience.”

 

“Oh, wait,” Holly interrupted, vague memories of sleepy Sunday morning conversations with a half-dead Rose returning to her, “I do remember that. Your first hangover, too.”

 

“Have there been any parties so far?” Albus asked.

 

“There was one,” Rose said with a roll of her eyes. “Last night, the Hufflepuffs organised it in their common room. It was a fifth-year arranged deal, so a pissed -off seventh year just went straight to Brodie and he shut it down.”

 

Scorpius scoffed. “What do fifth years have to celebrate anyway? Even the Quidditch season hasn’t started yet.”

 

“Apparently fifth year is the year you start having parties,” Holly said. “Or at least, that’s what my fifth years told me. Indirectly. I was eavesdropping.”

 

“Meanwhile, my students have just been talking about Hogsmeade weekend all week,” Rose added. “I like teaching the babies. Reminds me of simpler times.”

 

“When is the first Hogsmeade weekend? Sometime in October?” Scorpius asked.

 

“Yeah, the sixteenth.”

 

“They’re getting excited early.”

 

“Right? We were never like that, were we?”

 

“I dunno,” Albus mused. “I was hella keen to try Butterbeer. Dad always said I wasn’t allowed it till third year.”

 

“They’re not even talking about Butterbeer,” Rose said, shaking her head. “They’re talking about dates. Dates. Who’s taking who to Madam Puddifoot’s. They’re thirteen, and lemme tell you, thirteen is too young to be asking me about fucking Amortentia.”

 

“I hope you went on a rant about consent,” Scorpius said.

 

“Oh, she did,” Holly confirmed. “I heard all about it, some of my third years have Potions before Arithmancy. I think I heard the words ‘Oh my God, Professor Weasley had a total nut about Amortentia.”

 

“I have fulfilled my duty,” Rose said proudly. “They were the Hufflepuffs, by the way.”

 

“Also,” Scorpius interrupted, “Holly said you’re teaching twelve classes? Is that per week? That’s not a lot.”

 

“No, twelve groups,” Rose explained. “Three classes each, so I’m teaching thirty-six hours a week. The timetable’s insane, you know how there were nighttime slots for Care of Magical Creatures and Astronomy? That’s just seventh period now. For all subjects. They introduced that the year after we left, it’s seven thirty till eight thirty, or seven thirty till nine thirty on Fridays. And the Astronomy slots are now ten till eleven. Apparently they cottoned on to the fact that subjecting eleven year olds to midnight classes isn’t okay.”

 

“Why’s the timetable so insane?”

 

“All the core classes are split by house now,” Holly said. “Like, individual houses. Vector decided that with the new assistant teachers, the school could afford to actually split by house because the class sizes were getting insane, I was talking to Dean – Professor Thomas – the other day and he said he had sixty kids in one of his first year Defence classes last year. So Rose has got first through third year, each house individually. Arithmancy is a smaller subject, obviously, so third through fifth year are just split two ways, and sixth and seventh year are all in together.”

 

“How many in seventh year Arithmancy?”

 

Holly paused. “Um, thirteen.”

 

“That’s the stuff dreams are made of,” Rose said. “My smallest class is first year Slytherin, there are twenty-two of them.”

 

“Hard to believe we only had eight Claws in our year,” Holly added. “Mind you, that was ten years ago.”

 

“No way was it ten years ago,” Scorpius said, aghast.

 

“We started Hogwarts ten years ago.”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“2017. Ten years ago.”

 

“Stop.”

 

“But anyway,” Holly continued, “The timetable’s a disaster this year. Vector’s going to have four teachers per core subject next year, and two for the more popular options, because Rose has thirty-six teaching hours per week and I don’t even know how she’s alive right now.”

 

“A lot of coffee,” Rose explained. “Speaking of, I’m going to go get another. Holly?”

 

She considered this for a moment. She only had twenty-four teaching hours a week so she wasn’t as run off her feet as Rose, but she also anticipated not sleeping much tonight (The first Saturday back, the other Heads had warned her, was chaos as far as rulebreaking was concerned)

 

“Yeah, I will,” she decided.

 

“Caramel latte, yeah?”

 

“Yup.”

 

After Rose disappeared back inside, Albus leaned forward. “Is she burning herself out?”

 

“Not yet,” Holly conceded. “But she will. I mean, all the assistant teachers have been thrown in the deep end because of the timetable, but she’s overloading herself. She’s offered to oversee the school’s queer club – ”

 

“Hogwarts has a queer club now?”

 

“Yeah, it was started two years ago by Hugo and Rachel Burnsey. My sister’s running it now.”

 

“Your sister’s queer?”

 

Holly waved her hands dismissively. “Well, she’s not straight. But I told her – Rose, I mean – to find another member of staff to oversee it, like Lysander or Brodie, because they teach option subjects – ”

 

“Lysander’s teaching?”

 

“Yeah, he’s Care of Magical Creatures. He’s technically not qualified, but he did a teaching crash course the summer before last because they needed him to replace Hagrid. There are so many people from our year teaching – did you know Sean Finnigan’s here as well?”

 

“Herbology?” Scorpius asked. “Not sure how I feel about him teaching, though.”

 

“Yeah, he’s Longbottom’s assistant teacher. And I had no idea he was Professor Thomas’s son, did you know that?”

 

“No,” Albus said. “Yes? I don’t think I ever put two and two together.”

 

“He made it to seventh year without knowing there were sexualities other than gay and straight,” Scorpius said with a shake of his head. “He’s not the kind of guy you’d think was raised by two dads.”

 

“Wait, he didn’t?”

 

“He called himself ‘half gay.’”

 

“Far be it from us to police other people’s identities,” Albus said.

 

“No, this wasn’t about identities,” Scorpius said earnestly. “Boy’s dumb as shit. Good thing he’s pretty.”

 

“Who are we talking about?” Rose asked, returning with coffee and sliding one across to Holly.

 

“Sean Finnigan.”

 

“Bleh,” Rose contributed. “Half my students have crushes on him. I mean, they’re thirteen so they don’t know any better, but still. How are Lester and Lily going, by the way?”

 

“Not brilliantly,” Albus said. “They’ve been evicted from their flat – ”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“The landlord sold the property, so they have to be out by October. I think they’re going to move into James’s old room with Freddie.”

 

“James is moving out? How much have I missed? Is he getting a place with Julia?”

 

“Yes, a lot apparently, and yes. I’m so glad they’re not the marrying type – James and Julia, I mean – because all three of us in the space of a year would be ridiculous.”

 

“They’d probably elope,” Scorpius said. 

 

“Probably,” Albus agreed. “And they’d get away with it too. The last thing Mum wants is another wedding to deal with.”

 

“Oh, I dunno,” Scorpius mused. “She’s having a grand old time organising ours. Which, I have to say, is not what I expected from Ginevra Potter.”

 

Albus wrinkled his nose. “Don’t call her that, it’s weird.”

 

“It’s her name, Albus.”

 

“No,” Rose interrupted, “Albus is right, it’s weird. Anyway,” she said, glancing at her watch, “I hate to do this, but we’ve been out here for two hours and I have so much stuff to do back at the castle that it’s kinda making me want to cry.”

 

“Go, go,” Scorpius said hurriedly, getting to his feet. “And maybe nap a bit. And coffee’s only a short-term solution, remember that. And – ”

 

“If I need any more survival tips I’ll let you know,” Rose concluded. “Good luck for your eighteen-hour shift.”

 

Seizing his opportunity, Albus leaned forward across the table, dropping his voice so only Holly could hear him. “Look after her for me, okay?”

 

“I wish I could.” Holly sighed heavily. “I feel awful saying it – but I’ve got an entire House to look after now, and she’s stubborn as shit. All that ‘I function best under pressure’ stuff, you know Rose.”

 

“I do,” Albus agreed. “But humour me. At least make her owl me if she needs to.”

 

“I’ll do my best.”

 

“You’re a gem.” With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he bid them farewell and Disapparated hand in hand with Scorpius.

 

 

She’d finished marking by four that afternoon, thought about going to visit Rose, thought better of it, and found herself walking down to Brodie’s office. She didn’t have a reason to go and see him, couldn’t even invent one, but she forgot all about it when the door opened and a smile broke across Brodie’s face when he saw her.

 

Not that it was necessarily because of her. 

 

“Holly! Come in, I’ve just put the kettle on.” He waved her inside, took an extra cup and saucer from the shelf above his desk, and waved her into an armchair that she’d tried not to start thinking of as hers. “What brings you here?”

 

Holly shrugged. “Finished my marking early, felt like company.”

 

“How was coffee with your friends this morning?”

 

“Good. They’ve got a puppy, a chubby little labrador, so I spent most of the time ignoring them and playing with their dog.”

 

“You seem like a dog person.”

 

“I’m an everything person. Dogs, cats, bunnies, Pygmy Puffs…”

 

“So anything as cute as you? I mean – ” Brodie looked flustered. “Oh, fuck it, there’s no taking that back.”

 

Holly felt every bit as flustered as he looked, her cheeks suddenly aflame. “Oh. Well. I’m – ”

 

“I’m sorry,” Brodie blurted, running his hands through his hair. “I mean, I didn’t – um, you’re aromantic too, aren’t you? I didn’t even think to ask – ”

 

“No,” Holly said hastily. “No, I’m not aro, I’m very – romantic – oh God. That didn’t come out right – ”

 

“You’re very romantic, are you?” Brodie asked, a teasing smile breaking through his fluster. 

 

“Shush.”

 

“Do you want to – maybe – go for dinner in Hogsmeade tonight?”

 

Her heart sped up even more. “A date?”

 

“If you want.”

 

“Maybe not tonight.”

 

“Oh.” Brodie’s face fell, and Holly hurried to explain herself.

 

“No – it’s just – I mean – everyone’s there at dinner, and they’ll notice us missing and it’ll be really obvious because we’re both Heads of House – I’d love to go somewhere with you,” she concluded, hoping she sounded as earnest as she felt, “But dinner’s probably not the best option.”

 

“Brunch then?”

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah. Sunday morning, none of the students will notice we’re missing, I think about twelve people in the entire school go to breakfast in the weekends.”

 

“It’s a date.”

 

“It’s a date,” Brodie repeated, ducking his head to hide the smile creeping across his face. “I’ll see you in the Entrance Hall at ten o’clock, Professor Holyoake.”


	8. viii. reality bites [or] disillusionment, thy name is rose

Rose had never noticed, when she was at school, how many of the teachers tended to fuck off during the weekend. Those who remained were senior staff, such as the Heads of House and Professor Vector, or the young teachers who couldn’t afford to pay rent at a flat they were barely living in (and, all being single, had nobody to actually go home to – it sounded a lot sadder than it was) It made the staffroom an interesting place to be, filled with the senior staff who had been teaching for decades and the newbies, most of whom had been taught by the senior staff themselves and were still adjusting to being on a first name basis (While Rose herself had mastered calling her old potions professor ‘Herbert’ thanks to three years of weekly subject-specific training after finishing school, she was so far unable to extend that to anyone else who had taught her)  
  
  
“It’s nice having you kids around,” Herbert was telling her, Sean, Jess Macaulay and the DADA assistant teacher, Asher Hillcrest. “Used to be dead here in the weekends. Just Sprout and us Heads of House – and Hagrid and Trelawney, of course, but they had their little corners of the grounds and never ventured in here. Lot less boring.”  
  
  
“What do you do for fun?” Sean asked, sprawled across an armchair.  
  
  
Herbert shrugged. “Wait for the students to fuck something up – of course, you don’t have to worry about that outside the classroom, but I tell you what, Head of Slytherin’s a wild ride.”  
  
  
“What’s the worst fuck-up you’ve had to deal with?” Asher asked eagerly, pouring himself a glass of mead.  
  
  
Herbert glanced at Rose and Sean. “Had to get Magical Law Enforcement involved in ’24, that was probably the worst. I think I have the honour of being the only teacher here who’s had to expel anyone.”  
  
  
Jess’s eyes widened. “What did they _do_?”  
  
  
“I’m not going into that,” Herbert said firmly. “I’ve had to do a lot of suspensions as well, academic probations…Ninety percent of the contraband in this school, I guarantee, a Slytherin’s behind it.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Jess agreed. “Always got my booze from Slytherins when I was here – oop, I shouldn’t have said that.”  
  
  
Herbert waved a hand dismissively. “I think the only teacher with a clean disciplinary record is whatsername helping Binns…”  
  
  
“Eliza,” Asher offered.  
  
  
“Yeah, her.”  
  
  
“There are three recipients of the Fred Weasley Memorial Scholarship here,” Sean pointed out.  
  
  
“Who’re the others?” Jess asked. “I was at school with Teddy, I know he got it. That thing with the tractor and the geese…Inspired.”  
  
  
“Me,” Rose said, with a sheepish glance at Herbert. “And Holly.”  
  
  
“Wee Holly Holyoake?” Asher asked. “Little wee Holly with the Pygmy Puff?”  
  
  
“We were in cahoots,” Rose explained.  
  
  
“You should’ve seen it,” Sean said, waving his hands animately. “They turned all the toilet paper into doves and I _wiped my arse on one._ ”  
  
  
“That _was_ you!” Rose said delightedly. “I hoped it might have been. I just heard it was some Gryffindor.”  
  
  
“You know, I can live with that.”  
  
  
“I have to tell Holly.”  
  
  
“You don’t.”  
  
  
Rose glanced at her watch – it was quarter to ten, and she’d called a MagiQ meeting in the Unicorn at ten. She stood abruptly – startling Sean, who no doubt thought she was on her way to tell Holly he was the mystery dove-wiping Gryffindor from their seventh year.  
  
  
“Where’re you going?”  
  
  
“Unicorn,” she replied, indicating the stacks of books she was gathering into her arms. “Got a meeting with MagiQ about campaigning to put anti-discriminatory laws in place, because – ”  
  
  
“Anything to do with the Bigot of the Week column?”  
  
  
Rose raised an eyebrow. “You read _Witch Weekly_?”  
  
  
“My sister does.”  
  
  
“You don’t have a sister.”  
  
  
Sean stared at her. “Siobhan Finnigan? She was three years ahead of us at school? Ravenclaw? She was your _Quidditch captain._ ”  
  
  
“Oh,” Rose said eventually. “My bad.”  
  
  
Sean shook his head.  
  
  
“But seriously,” Rose continued, “Sean and Siobhan?”  
  
  
“Don’t blame me for the sins of my fathers. Can I come along to your thing?”  
  
  
“Um, sure,” Rose said, startled as she lead the way to the Floo. “Any reason?”  
  
  
“Well, I am half gay.”  
  
  
“Yeah, about that.” Rose turned to him. “ _Half gay_ isn’t actually a thing.”  
  
  
“I know that it’s not _actually_ a thing, but bisexual reminds me of Dad and that’s a weird association to have when it comes to sexual identity.”  
  
  
“Oh.” Rose paused. “I just thought you were really dumb.”  
  
  
“Glad we cleared that up.” Sean gestured to the Floo, and Rose threw a handful of powder into the flames, deciding there was no salvaging that particular situation.  
  
  
If Charlotte was surprised to see Rose back at MagiQ she didn’t show it, and she got a warm welcome from the other members and a thousand questions about how teaching was going. Feeling strangely like she’d just come home after a long trip away, Rose took a seat in MagiQ’s usual corner of the Unicorn and launched into the passionate spiel she had been piecing together since her meeting with the boys earlier.  
  
  
“I think this is really good timing,” Charlotte agreed once Rose had finished. “Astoria Malfoy’s Bigot of the Week column has really raised public awareness of active discrimination, and there’s definitely been some dialogue started around it. I think the next step is a petition which we can present to the Ministry once we’ve gotten enough signatures – we can put a Protean Charm on a roll of parchment and have copies here and in workplaces – Rose and Sean, I think I heard something about a queer group at Hogwarts, is that right?”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Rose said eagerly. “And if I take – ”  
  
  
“Maybe we should let the kids handle this one,” Sean interrupted. “Let Emma Holyoake know we’re putting this in motion, but I think Queer Hogwarts should take it from there, give them an opportunity for some real leadership. I think it’d be really good for them to know they’ve made a difference themselves.”  
  
  
“Oh,” Rose said. “Yeah, that’s a better idea.”  
  
  
With their course of action decided, Charlotte called the meeting to a close. Rose was a little disappointed – she’d only been at Hogwarts three weeks but she was already getting cabin fever, and had been looking forward to an evening full of lively discussion.  
  
  
“Hey, professors!” Alfie called. “You staying for drinks?”  
  
  
“Fuck yes,” Sean said immediately. “Rose?”  
  
  
“Best idea I’ve ever heard,” Rose said, and resumed her seat.   
  
  
She and Sean only had a couple of drinks each, switching to pumpkin fizz just before Logan started offering half price shots.  
  
  
“Can’t walk through a school drunk off our arses,” Sean explained.  
  
  
“Everyone’s walked through Hogwarts drunk off their arses at least once,” Abigail said dismissively.  
  
  
“Yeah,” Rose agreed, “But not as _staff_.”  
  
  
“True.” Abigail wrinkled her nose. “What’s it like, being a role model?”  
  
  
“I was always a role model,” Rose said haughtily.  
  
  
Alfie snorted. “ _Seventh year,_ Rose Weasley.”  
  
  
Rose shook her head. “You spend _one_ year instituting total chaos at your school and nobody lets you forget it.”  
  
  
As Abigail and Sean were absorbed into conversation, Rose took the opportunity to catch up with Alfie. She hadn’t seen him since the last MagiQ meeting a few months ago (they tended to drop off over the summer months) and while they never actually made plans to meet up, they had run into each other countless times over the last three years. Theirs was a complicated relationship – never anything formal, never anything approaching stability or romance, but with an unparalleled _inevitability_ to it. They would talk, talk for hours and marvel at how they had let so much time elapse since they last talked, and then one would kiss the other and it was all over and they’d be waking up beside each other, torn between _how did that happen again_ and _why did we think it would ever be any different_ , and in truth neither of them wanted to change it.  
  
  
Until now.  
  
  
“I have a girlfriend,” Alfie told her.  
  
  
“Oh.” Rose didn’t know how to react, not sure what was appropriate – because they were friends, but they had never _just_ been friends. “Is it serious?”  
  
  
“Yeah, reckon it is. We’ve been together about three months now.”  
  
  
“Was she at Hogwarts with us?”  
  
  
“Yeah, she was a year behind us, in Slytherin. Her name’s Freya Nott.”  
  
  
“Pureblood girl?”  
  
  
“Yeah. It’s a different _world_. Drink?”  
  
  
She took the wine Alfie poured for her, either forgetting or not caring about her two drinks rule, she wasn’t sure, and drank it a little too quickly.  
  
  
“Everything okay?” Alfie asked after a pause. “I get it might be a bit weird for you – ”  
  
  
“For me? Nah.” Rose waved a hand. “It was just sex. Had to end sometime, right?”  
  
  
“You just wanted to be the one to end it?” Alfie asked.  
  
  
“I’m not that petty.” She was, and Alfie knew it.  
  
  
“Rose?” Sean tapped her on the shoulder. “I’m heading back to the castle, it’s past midnight.”  
  
  
“Oh, hold up, I’ll come with you.” She stood, giving Alfie an awkward hug goodbye and heading for the Floo.  
  
  
“I thought you switched to pumpkin fizz,” Sean said quietly in her ear when they reached the fireplace.   
  
  
“I did. Then I had another glass of wine.”  
  
  
“You all right?”  
  
  
“Yeah, fine. Just keen to get back.”  
  
  
“Something happen?”  
  
  
“Nah. Don’t worry about it.” She headed through the Floo first, pleased to see that the staffroom on the other side was empty.  
  
  
Sean insisted on walking her back to her office.  
  
  
“I’m not _drunk_ ,” she hissed, irritated. “I’ve had _three_ drinks in two _hours_.”  
  
  
“I know you’re not drunk, you’d have to be the biggest lightweight on the planet.”  
  
  
“So why are you walking me back to my office?”  
  
  
“I dunno, it’s polite. And you’re upset. And it’s on the way.”  
  
  
“I’m not upset.”  
  
  
“Sure you’re not.” They had arrived at Rose’s office door. “You don’t have to tell me why, but I had an Irish coffee back there and I’m going to be up for a while longer anyway, so if you want to have a rant it may as well be to me.”  
  
  
Rose hesitated. “I just feel like – nobody needs me like they used to.”  
  
  
It wasn’t until she put it into words that she realised the truth of it, and it suddenly seemed to crush her – MagiQ didn’t need her because Charlotte had taken it over; Holly didn’t need her because she had Brodie; Albus and Scorpius had each other and Lester had the boys and Lily, and Lily had Albus and Holly – and even here the students didn’t need her for Queer Hogwarts and they barely needed her in the classroom either – there had been no _epiphany_ moments, no triumphs of teaching, just lesson plans and supervising brewing and marking essays. And Alfie finding himself a girlfriend was just the shitty icing on an already fucked cake.  
  
  
“I can change that,” Sean said after a pause, and Rose felt the atmosphere shift, Sean holding her door open and staring at her, and she stepped inside and pulled him after her.  
  
  
“Just for tonight,” she said, as the door clicked closed.  
  
  
“Just for tonight,” Sean echoed, and then his lips were on hers.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
   
  
Holly wasn’t in when Rose went to find her the next morning. Sean had left at first light, because even on a Sunday morning there would be the odd student up at eight thirty for breakfast and the last thing Rose wanted was for some early-rising sixteen year old to be asking what Professor Finnigan was doing in her office first thing.  
  
  
After a brief moment of mentally running through her friends/cousins and working out that Flooing to their houses probably wouldn’t be an option, she decided she should spend the morning actually doing what she was paid to do, and set up camp in the staffroom with a pile of fourth year essays. Most of the other teachers seemed to have the same idea – Jess and Asher drifted in around eleven o’clock, armed with stacks of parchment, followed by Lysander shortly before lunch and a number of senior teachers after lunch – May, Corner, Robins and Neville (he was the other exception, Rose realised, to the first names rule, but he didn’t really count considering he’d known her since infancy and had unofficially been ‘Uncle Neville’ right until her first Herbology class)  
  
  
By the time the staffroom crowd had increased to include Eliza Lattimore, the assistant History of Magic teacher who Rose had seen approximately twice in the last three weeks and who barely even left her office for meals, the absence of two certain Heads of House was beginning to get conspicuous.  
  
  
“Where’s Holly?” Sean asked, plopping into an empty seat beside her at the main table and opening up a lesson planner and five different textbooks.  
  
  
Deciding the best way to avoid awkwardness over the previous night was to launch into some quality speculation about someone else, she replied, “No idea. But we haven’t seen Brodie today either.”  
  
  
“Something going on there, do you reckon?”  
  
  
“I’d put money on it.”  
  
  
“Isn’t Holly ace?”  
  
  
“Yeah, but she’s not aro.”  
  
  
She could see the cogs turning in his mind. “That’s aromantic, right?”  
  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
  
“How do you learn all this stuff?” he asked eventually. “Everyone at MagiQ seems to be – I dunno, _born_ knowing all the terms and definitions and all that. I think I understood about thirty percent of what was said last night.”  
  
  
“I’m not sure,” Rose said. “There was a lot of research involved – everyone in my group at school was queer except Lester, so we just went on missions to the library and stuff, and when I started MagiQ we reached out to similar groups in America and Canada and Australia, and even a couple of Muggle ones – we definitely weren’t born knowing this stuff.”  
  
  
“Do you have some resources around at all?” Sean asked. “I’m kinda keen to get more involved with this stuff, and I’d like to know what I’m talking about.”  
  
  
“Yeah, absolutely – I’ve got heaps in my office.” She stood, not surprised when Sean followed her through the twisting corridors, and started rummaging through her bookshelves and files. “These are from an advertising campaign we did in _Teen Witch_ last year – they’re targeted at young women, obviously, but the info in them is universal – this stuff here is a work in progress, we’re working with the Ministry to develop a sex education course at Hogwarts, the Muggles have had them for decades and we’re way behind – ”  
  
  
“That’s an amazing idea,” Sean said, taking the files she gave him and leafing through them. “So how would that work – a separate subject, or an additional class every week or two, or – ”  
  
  
“Probably an additional class every week or two, there’s no way we can implement something like that until Vector sorts out the timetable, of course – we’ve also hit a snag with the Ministry pushing for separation of the sexes if we run these classes. We disagree because we don’t want to reinforce the gender binary any more than it already is at Hogwarts, but at this point they’re refusing to sign it off.”  
  
  
“Could you get the board involved?”  
  
  
“We’ll have to eventually, but not yet. The board are the biggest bunch of conservatives I’ve ever seen and I’d prefer to have the backing of the Ministry before I – _we_ – go to the board. So we’re at a bit of an impasse at this point.” She surveyed her bookshelf, pulling out another couple of volumes. “This is a collection of academic papers on the prevalence of homosexuality in wizarding Britain – it’s from the nineties, so it’s a bit out of date, but it gives you some good background info about the ideas we’re coming up against. And _these_ ,” she handed over a stack of colourful magazines, “Are copies of MagiQ’s magazine. We put it out four times a year, and it’s pretty much everything. We want to get it into the Hogwarts library, but we have to, quote, ‘clean up our language’ before we do. You’ll see why.”  
  
 _  
“Why heteronormativity needs to get fucked_ ,” Sean read from the cover of the June 2025 edition. “Yeah, I can see why. Though I think you’d have a hard time cleaning up a magazine about queer issues to Hogwarts library standards and still making it appealing to potty-mouthed young adults. I dunno about you, but if a piece of media targeted to my demographic doesn’t include more f-bombs than adjectives I start doubting their commitment.”  
  
  
“True,” Rose conceded. “What do you reckon we should do?”  
  
  
“ _Queer Hogwarts_ ,” Sean replied, making jazz hands. “They could put out a magazine of their own, maybe? Or even start contributing to _Draco Dormiens_. That way you can still target the MagiQ magazine to the 18-30 year olds and have something more appropriate for the students.”  
  
  
“You’re full of surprises,” Rose said eventually.  
  
  
“Is that Rose Weasley-speak for ‘that’s a really good idea’?”  
  
  
“Yeah. Can I ask you something?”  
  
  
“Sure.”  
  
  
“Why now?”  
  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
  
“Why are you only interested in MagiQ now?”  
  
  
“I dunno. I haven’t really been out that long – well, I’m not really that _out_ now. I told my dads when I was about sixteen and a few of my friends in seventh year after I slept with a guy – ”  
  
  
“Scorpius?”  
  
  
“He told you about that?”  
  
  
“It came out,” Rose replied evasively, not wanting to admit to eavesdropping in the Gryffindor common room under Albus’s invisibility cloak.  
  
  
“Yeah. And it seems dumb looking back on it, that I didn’t want to tell my friends when three out of the five of us turned out to be queer anyway – but nobody was talking about it, and I’d heard enough nasty things about my dads when I was younger…” He trailed off, shrugging. “But I’m a teacher now, and I care about these kids, and I don’t want them to be teenagers in the same world I was, you know?”  
  
  
Rose drummed her fingernails against the edge of her desk. “Stop talking before I want to sleep with you again.”  
  
  
She hadn’t realised how close he’d been standing until she said that, and she felt all the air leave the room when his hand brushed against her waist. “What happened to ‘just for tonight?’” His voice was impossibly low, sending goosebumps down her spine.  
  
  
“I changed my mind.”  
  
  
“You do that a lot around me.” He kissed her, seconds after she had thought to grab her wand and close the door from across the room, and she wrapped her arms around him and returned the kiss with a fervour she hadn’t felt in ages –   
  
  
There was a knock on the door. “ _Shit_.”  
  
  
“Student,” Sean said unnecessarily.  
  
  
“Fuck.” She thrust the books and magazines he’d come for into his hands and pushed him back through into the adjacent bedroom. “Sit. Stay. Be _quiet_.”  
  
  
He mimed zipping his lips as she shut the door on him.  
  
  
At her office door was one of her fourth-years, Jade Curlett.  
  
  
“Jade, hi,” Rose said, trying not to sound as flustered as she felt. “What can I do for you?”  
  
  
“Hi, Professor Weasley,” Jade said quickly, staring at her shoes and sounding as though she was rattling off a very carefully rehearsed speech, “I wanted to ask you about something.”  
  
  
“Oh. Sure. Come in, come in.” On a hunch that this wasn’t related to essays or classwork of any sort, Rose closed the door and surreptitiously cast a silencing charm on the wall between the office and bedroom.  
  
  
 _Tap, tap, tap_ went Jade’s foot on the stone floor.   
  
  
“What’s going on?” Rose asked eventually.  
  
  
“I didn’t want to go to Madam Longbottom – ”  
  
  
Biting back some reassurance about how Hannah Longbottom was actually really lovely and nobody to be afraid of, Rose nodded. “Go on.”  
  
  
“I was wondering if you could teach me to brew the contraceptive potion,” Jade blurted.  
  
  
 _Oh boy._ “I’m afraid I can’t teach you.”  
  
  
“Oh.” Jade stood, about to scurry away again.  
  
  
“Wait. I need to explain why.” Rose took a deep breath. “It’s a very complex potion. A very complex potion that’s really easy to fuck up, and really disastrous if you do. Madam Longbottom has some, but she only gives it to girls seventeen or over – that’s not her decision, that’s the Ministry’s.”  
  
  
“I heard some older girls saying that.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Rose continued. “I’m not going to ask for the details, but the fact you’re coming to a teacher at all – I’m going to brew it for you, okay? I’d be much happier knowing you’re safe.”  
  
  
“Are you allowed to do that?”  
  
  
“About as much as I’d be allowed to teach it to you.”  
  
  
Jade fidgeted. “Thank you, Professor.”  
  
  
“Don’t mention it.” Rose stood. “Like, really. Don’t mention it. I could get into trouble. Come by my office hours next week, anytime from Wednesday onwards.”  
  
  
“Thank you,” Jade repeated. She disappeared with impressive haste, leaving Rose with sweaty palms and two potential scandals too many.


	9. ix. enchanted engineering enterprises [or] the light at the end of the tunnel

The advantage of hitting rock bottom, Lester realised, was that he could only go up from there. After three days of hiding in his room following the Incident, as Lily had ambiguously dubbed it, he agreed to go see Albus at St Mungo’s and was officially his patient (though they’d both had to sign a waiver saying St Mungo’s was not responsible for any misjudgements on Albus’s part because of their existing relationship.) They’d worked out a compromise with the anti-anxiety potions, with Albus walking him through the components and adjusting the dosage to something he was comfortable with.   
  
  
He was still working at the Muggle supermarket, though he’d decided to quit as soon as he and Lily were kicked out of their Glasgow flat and moved in with Freddie. He’d been working there three weeks now, had paid off his overdraft at Gringotts, and knew it would take all his willpower to give up the extra Galleons come October. His new ambition was to win the captaincy of the Wasps – their current captain, Damien, had been recruited to the English international side and would be quitting at the end of the season – and captaincy brought with it a huge pay rise. He wasn’t as experienced as some of the other players, who had been on the team longer than him or who had held the captaincy of their Hogwarts teams longer than he did, but he had an impeccable record – he had caught the Snitch for every single game he’d played so far, and while that didn’t always translate to a win for the Wasps he knew damn well how big a role he’d played in their success.   
  
  
It was one of the reasons he had jumped at the chance to meet with potential sponsors this season – the more he took on the responsibilities of a captain, the more he would be at the forefront of Damien’s mind when he decided on his successor. Plus, the first meeting he had was with an up-and-coming new broomstick company, and most broomstick manufacturers went straight to a team’s Seeker to show off the speed, agility and handling of their latest model.   
  
  
The Wasps had finished last season just out of the top 5, though their astronomical rise through the ranks (when Lester joined, they were sitting three from the bottom, only above the Chudley Cannons and the Wigtown Wanderers) and their solid win over the Ballycastle Bats in their first game of the season ensured they were finally getting some attention from sponsors.   
  
  
Which would hopefully, again, mean a pay rise, because the Wasps were flat broke and Lester’s main motivation throughout last season was to play well enough for Puddlemere United or the Tutshill Tornadoes to try and poach him.   
  
  
They hadn’t, obviously.  
  
  
The group standing in the middle of the Wasps’ practice grounds looked like no broomstick manufacturers Lester had ever met. There were four of them, two witches and two wizards, none of them a day over thirty and dressed decidedly Muggle – button down shirts and skinny jeans and floral dresses with little collars.   
  
  
“Hi,” one of the wizards beamed at Lester through thick-rimmed glasses and a sizeable auburn beard. “My name’s Thomas Creyke, and these are my colleagues, Aidan Rathbone, Ella Forbes-Martin and Alex Lyon, we’re E3.”  
  
  
“Lester Raine,” he returned. “Seeker of the Wimbourne Wasps. What have you got for me?”  
  
  
“Here,” the short brunette girl Thomas had introduced as Alex said, gesturing towards a sleek broomstick engraved with the name  _Celerrimis I._  
  
  
“Celerrimis?” Lester asked.  
  
  
“It means ‘for the swiftest,’” the tall blonde, Ella, explained. “It incorporates our philosophy, really – that the broom is a tool for the wizard, and the ideal broom is one that accentuates and complements the flyer’s natural skill. We’ve employed traditional broommaking techniques as well, of course, for aerodynamics and charmwork, but the idea with the Celerrimis line is the best possible synergy between broom and wizard.”  
  
  
“Tap the broom with your wand,” Thomas urged.  
  
  
Lester did, and immediately the broom rose in the air and hovered alongside his hip. “Is it some sort of synchronisation – ”  
  
  
“Exactly,” Alex said eagerly. “We’ve laid a dormant spell on each broom that’s activated with a tap of the wand, and it does – it synchronises the core of the broom with the core of the wand. Well, it  _mimics_ it, there’s no actual duplication involved – what’s your wand, Lester?”  
  
  
It may have been his background in wandlore, but Lester always found that a rather personal question – though he knew the average wizard didn’t have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the nature of each wood and core, he was nevertheless all too aware that his wand was an unwritten record of his character, able to be easily interpreted.  
  
  
“Walnut and phoenix feather,” he said, after a pause.  
  
  
“Ooh, walnut?” Ella repeated. “Me too, and I think Thomas – ”  
  
  
“Nah, I’m pine,” Thomas said, overhearing her. “Aidan’s the other walnut. Phoenix feather, you said? Impressive, I don’t meet many phoenix feather carriers – ”  
  
  
“Yeah, we’re only about ten percent of the population.”  
  
  
“Seriously? Me and – fuck, who is it – Alex? I think? Both have phoenix feather wands. We must be overrepresented.”  
  
  
Suddenly believing there was more to this group than met the eye, Lester asked, “So what’s E3?”  
  
  
“Ah,” Thomas said. “We try to hide behind that enigmatic little moniker as much as we can, but you seem like an intelligent guy – ”  
  
  
“With a walnut and phoenix feather wand you kind of have to be,” Alex interjected, and Lester winced a bit and stowed the aforementioned wand back into his sleeve.  
  
  
“E3 stands for Enchanted Engineering Enterprises,” Aidan explained. “We’re basically a magical innovation company, striving to understand magic at a fundamental, scientific level and utilise those findings in the development of new products. The Celerrimis is our first major project.”  
  
  
“And we’re very proud of it,” Alex added. “But enough talk, go and take it for a spin.”  
  
  
Lester didn’t need telling twice. He mounted the broom and took off, making a few wide loops around the grounds.  
  
  
The broom was a masterpiece of engineering, that was clear. It was light, fast, and seemed to almost anticipate his every move before he made it – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such inexplicable  _joy_ just from flying – Quidditch had lost its magic around the same time he started playing for a living, mounting a broom was just going to work; but  _this_ – he felt like he was eleven again, flying for the first time across the Hogwarts grounds.  
  
  
He landed, wasting no time in talking business with Thomas. They were avid followers of Quidditch, of course (more so since they had started working on the Celerrimis and listened to the league on the wireless in their workshop) and were confident the Wasps were on their way to the top of the table. And, most importantly, they were a new company and needed to make a name for themselves.  
  
  
“We’ll supply your team with seven Celerrimis brooms free of charge,” Thomas said. “In an ideal world we’d give them to your reserves as well, but we’re still a start up – ”  
  
  
“Seven brooms is perfect,” Lester said hurriedly.  
  
  
“And we’d like our logo added to your uniforms.”  
  
  
“Of course, of course. Anything else?”  
  
  
“Just give us a shout out when you guys hit number one,” Alex said.  
  
  
“I’ll talk to your manager tomorrow and get a contract signed,” Thomas summarised.   
  
  
“That’s perfect. Hey, guys, thank you so much – ”  
  
  
“No problem,” Thomas said, and Alex nudged him. “Hey mate, have you got any plans after this?”  
  
  
“Um,” Lester said, feeling a bit bewildered, “No?”  
  
  
“We’re going for coffee if you want to join,” Alex explained.   
  
  
“Sure,” Lester said, still feeling confused. “Just give me a moment to get changed – ”  
“We’ll meet you outside the gate,” Alex said, and the four swarmed off the grounds.  
  
Lester’s confusion over being invited to coffee faded on the brief walk down the street to a nearby café as he was absorbed into a lively discussion about wandlore with Alex. Though it hadn’t worked out for him as a career choice, he still found the field fascinating and had learned enough from Ollivander in the two years of his apprenticeship to launch into detailed explanations of the relationship between wizard and wand.  
  
  
“So why Quidditch?” Ella asked eventually, once they were settled at a table. “You don’t strike me as a typical league player.”  
  
  
Lester shrugged. “I needed to pay rent, and the Wasps offered me a permanent position.”  
  
  
“So you’re not too  _attached_ to the team?” Alex asked.  
  
  
Lester narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”  
  
  
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Subtlety is not your strong point, Alexandra.”  
  
  
“We don’t have any need of subtlety. Lester, we want to offer you a job.”  
  
  
“You what?” Lester asked, stunned.  
  
  
“Job,” Alex repeated. “You. With us.”  
  
  
“You barely even know me,” Lester said, knowing perfectly well that wasn’t the best response to a job offer but having too many questions to help it, “I met you lot half an hour ago. What – how – why do you want– you don’t even know my  _NEWT results_.”  
  
  
“True,” Aidan said. “So what were your NEWT results?”  
  
  
This had backfired on him. “Uh. Well. Outstanding for Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Potions.”  
  
  
The four exchanged glances; Lester spotted a trace of worry on Alex’s face.   
  
  
“What about wandwork?” Alex asked. “Charms? Transfiguration? Please tell me you have a NEWT in Charms or Transfiguration.”  
  
  
“Top scholar,” Lester said eventually.  
  
  
Aidan stared at him. “For both?”  
  
  
“Yeah. Well, yeah. Astronomy too.”  
  
  
“Bro,” Alex said incredulously.   
  
  
Lester hid behind his latte.  
  
  
“And you’re playing  _Quidditch_ ,” Ella said. “You must have the best results Hogwarts has seen in at least a decade – ”  
  
  
“Fifty years,” Lester said, and wished he hadn’t.  
  
  
“ _Quidditch_ ,” Ella repeated.  
  
  
“I have rent to pay,” Lester said defensively. “And a wedding to save up for, and – ” Deciding it was time to get the conversation away from his Hogwarts results, he cut himself off. “What’s your pay like?”  
  
  
“ _Well_ ,” Thomas began.  
  
  
“That’s a fun question,” Alex continued. “We’re all in the same place with this company, and like we said, the Celerrimis is our first major product so we’re not generating an income yet.”  
  
  
“We’re running on loans from Gringotts,” Thomas explained. “We all own equal shares in the company so any profits are distributed evenly, but yeah, like Alex said, we’re not at that point yet.”  
  
  
“And you need the publicity from the Wasps riding the Celerrimis.”  
  
  
“Precisely.”  
  
  
“And ideally you need the Wasps doing well.”  
  
  
“That’s the idea, yeah.”  
  
  
Deciding he was in for a penny, in for a pound as far as tooting his own horn was concerned, Lester leaned forward. “Honestly? I’m the only reason the Wasps are doing well. If I leave the team, they bomb and go back to the bottom of the table. And the top five already have binding sponsorship contracts with existing broom companies.”   
  
  
“You could work for us part time,” Thomas offered. “We’re wanting to move into communications next, you could be part of that project – and you can still play for the Wasps.”  
  
  
“Which would probably be a better option anyway,” Alex said. “You know, so you have an income and everything. The four of us are living in a flat belonging to Ella’s parents, and truth be told, we pay for groceries by Muggle credit card fraud.”  
  
  
“I’d rather avoid credit card fraud if I can help it, yeah.”  
  
  
“So,” Thomas said. “Part time?”  
  
  
“Would I have the chance to go full time later?” Lester asked. “In five years or whatever, if I’ve had enough of Quidditch.”  
  
  
“I sure hope so,” Thomas said. “If we’re not able to support another full-time member of the team in five years we’re in trouble. I mean, that does depend on your performance, but I don’t think we’ll have a problem there.”  
  
  
“You’re putting a lot of faith in a walnut wand and some NEWT results,” Lester said eventually.  
  
  
“We’ve put a lot more faith in a lot less before.”  
  
  
“Where are you guys stationed?”  
  
  
“Out in Hull, we have an abandoned Muggle warehouse. It’s actually Fideliused, so I’ll get Ella to give you the address.”  
  
  
“We figured I’m the safest bet for Secret-Keeper,” Ella said, tearing a scrap of paper from a notebook in her handbag, “Seeing as I’m a Legilimens.”  
  
  
“You’re a what?”  
  
  
“We fuck around a lot with advanced experimental magic,” Alex explained. “We tried to become Animagi a couple years ago but none of us wanted to hold a Mandrake leaf in our mouths for a month, so.”  
  
  
“That’s part of it? Gross.”  
  
  
“We called it quits after Aidan nearly died choking on it in his sleep.”  
  
  
“I’ll take the job. Whatever the job is,” he added.  
  
  
“We don’t really know either,” Thomas shrugged. “Just show up to the workshop when you can and come to our planning meetings. Do you have a schedule of your training hours and games?”  
  
  
“Yeah, I can owl it to you tonight. Though I’m working part time somewhere else until October.”  
  
  
“Just let us know your availability,” Ella said, scribbling on another page of paper. “This is our flat address, send your owl here and we’ll let you know when to come to the workshop. I’ll have to meet with you and Apparate you there the first time, though, because of the Fidelius – where do you live?”  
  
  
“Glasgow.”  
  
  
“Why Glas – never mind. We’ll be in touch.” She tore off the paper, handed it to Lester, and stood. “Pleasure doing business.”  
  
  
“Yeah, see you round,” Alex added, and after a cacaphony of scraping chairs and piling dishes and exchanging pleasantries they were gone.  
  
  
In awe of his changed fortune, he Apparated into Diagon Alley and made reservations for the evening in a fancy new restaurant that had opened the previous summer – he and Lily were well overdue for celebrating their engagement, after all.


	10. x. the hopping pot foundation [or] uncharted territory

There was one road that ran along the edge of the Malfoy estate, a straight, narrow road that serviced a handful of Muggle farmhouses scattered throughout the countryside (none of which could be seen from any point inside Malfoy Manor, of course) and so rarely used that Scorpius and Teddy had run races down the middle of it as children. It was hidden from view of the house by a tall, thick hedge (which generations of Malfoys had used to shield their family from the sight of filthy Muggle infrastructure; Scorpius was the first Malfoy child in memory to be permitted near it, and his grandfather Lucius always frowned deeply when he would disappear through the hedge on Christmas afternoon).  
  
  
He wasn’t sure why he’d insisted on walking along the road on their way back from his parents’ for dinner – he was restless, and exhausted, and even ten minutes in the crisp, clear night, away from the crowds and smog and bustle of London, held an appeal he couldn’t deny.  
  
  
“Do you ever think about moving out to the country?” he asked, and Albus puffed a cloud of warm air into the cold and tugged him closer.  
  
  
“I’ve thought about it. I mean, that’s the goal, isn’t it? London’s great when you’re young, but I’ve never wanted to stay there forever.”  
  
  
“Where would you want to go?”  
  
  
Albus shrugged. “Somewhere in the West Country, I guess? Not Godric’s Hollow though.”  
  
  
“Yeah, that’d be weird. Run into your dad down at the pub.”  
  
  
Albus wrinkled his nose. “Blegh. I want a big section though. Room for Aeneas to run around, he’s going to get way too big for our apartment soon.”  
  
  
“He’s a teeny tiny baby.”  
  
  
“He’s doubled in size since we got him.”  
  
  
“True,” Scorpius conceded. “You want to move soon, then?”  
  
  
“When we have the money. You’re passing the six month mark soon, right?”  
  
  
“Sometime in December. We can get a new place around New Years –” He stopped in his tracks, arm flying out to pull Albus back with him as a car came hurtling around the corner, skidding dangerously close to the grass verge. A young man leaned out the window and yelled obscenities as the car roared away.  
  
  
“Jesus,” Albus managed, staring after the car. “Are they drunk?”  
  
  
“I hope the driver isn’t.”  
  
  
“They could’ve killed – Scorp, there’s another car up there.”  
  
  
They had barely started running when they heard the crash, screaming tyres and crunching metal and an explosion like a thousand people Apparating at once, and Scorpius fired  _Periculum_  into the air without thinking as they raced to the scene.  
  
  
The car that had passed them was wrapped, crumpled, around a concrete pole; the other one upside down in a ditch. With a wave of his hand Scorpius sent Albus to the other car and approached the steaming wreckage.  
  
  
The boys within – because they were boys, younger than Scorpius, barely eighteen – stank of blood and alcohol; motionless but for one in the back sobbing and hyperventilating –  
  
  
“There are kids!” Albus cried from across the road. “Scorpius, there are  _kids_  in here – ”  
  
  
“You’re a fucking Healer!” he yelled back, casting  _lumos_  to see into the dark interior of the car and fighting the urge to recoil at what he found.  
  
  
“Breathe,” he told the boy in the back seat. “It’ll be fine. I’m here to help. Are you hurt?”  
  
  
“I –don’t – ”  
  
  
“I’m going to take you out of the car, all right?” He checked the boy again, slashed the seatbelt away with a wave of his wand – he didn’t trust  _levicorpus_ , it was too violent and unpredictable a spell, so  _wingardium leviosa_  it was, and he brought the boy out of the wreckage and laid him on the grass.  
  
  
He had no potions, no dittany or painkillers, just his wand. He conjured a crude tourniquet for a deep gash on the boy’s arm, set to work on the fractures –  
  
  
“Scorpius!”  
  
  
“Hold on!” he yelled back. His parents would have dittany – he raised his wand and summoned it, diving back into the car, checking for pulses, signs of life –  
  
  
“I don’t remember the resuscitation spell, Scorpius – ”  
  
  
“ _Spiritus_ ,” he shouted.  
  
  
The driver was alive. Scorpius concentrated on that, not the tangle of twisted metal and glass surrounding him. Get him out of the car. Remove this, dissolve that, break something else. Severing charm, severing charm, controlled  _diffindo_ ,  _wingardium leviosa_. Clear away the glass. Lay him on the road – he wasn’t breathing. _Spiritus. Episkey, episkey, spiritus_  again. The dittany had arrived – Scorpius caught it, applied it liberally, returned to the other boy,  _where were the paramedics?_  
  
  
He sent another  _Periculum_. The two boys still in the car were both dead.  
  
  
“I’ve called an ambulance,” Albus said quietly when Scorpius crossed the road. “The dad has a mobile phone.  _Periculum_  won’t work for Muggles.”  
  
  
“But  _I_  cast it.”  
  
  
“We have to leave. We’ve done all we can.”  
  
  
“No we haven’t,” Scorpius said desperately. “I still have dittany left, those  _kids_  – ”  
  
  
“Make it quick.”  
  
  
He did, wishing he had more – the right potions, an emergency room of supplies and Healers, more time, but he heard the sirens blaring and Albus pulled him into the hedge and Apparated them both away.  
  
  
They were silent when they got home, moving through the apartment like ghosts, brewing tea and showering and drumming fingers on tabletops.  
  
  
“Are you coming to bed?” Albus asked eventually, eyes searching him. “I can give you something to help you sleep.”  
  
  
“I’m not taking anything ever again,” Scorpius replied, and that was that. He stayed up all night, drifting from bookshelf to desk to stacks of journals piled on the floor with only a half-formed idea of what he was doing, scribbling and underlining and highlighting.  
  
  
“Tell me you don’t have work this morning,” Albus said when he emerged at seven o’clock, steaming mug of coffee in his hand.  
  
  
“Nah. Not till Tuesday.”  
  
  
Albus sat down. “What’s all this?”  
  
  
“A plan. Sort of. A concept, if you will.”  
  
  
“Tell me about this  _concept, if you will_.”  
  
  
“It’s called the Hopping Pot Foundation.”  
  
  
“Hopping Pot as in Beedle the Bard?”  
  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
  
“Magical medical assistance for Muggles?”  
  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
  
“So how’s it going to work?”  
  
  
“Well, illegally. Probably. I’m looking for loopholes.”  
  
  
“Have you checked the Patronus Act of 2009? Hermione passed that one, I think it allows magical intervention if a Muggle’s life is in danger…”  
  
  
“I must be missing that year in my extensive collection of Wizengamot bills and acts of the 21st century,” Scorpius said pointedly.  
  
  
“You should pop by her office today sometime. Or go see her now, I don’t think she leaves for work till eight, and if what you’re planning turns out to be illegal you probably don’t want to discuss it at the Ministry.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Scorpius agreed. “Because it’s so much better to drop by the Minister of Magic’s  _house_  to discuss possibly illegal activity.”  
  
  
“You joke, but there’s an element of truth there.”  
  
  
“Touche. Do I look presentable?”  
  
  
“Surprisingly, yeah. Did you shower?”  
  
  
“At about four.”  
  
  
“Go, go. I’ll see you when I get home.”  
  
  
“Have a good day,” Scorpius said, and kissed him before Apparating outside the Weasleys’ house.  
  
  
It was, thankfully, Hermione who answered when he knocked, all crisp and formal before she saw who was at the door. “Scorpius! What brings you here so early – come in, come in – is Rose okay?” she asked suddenly, five emotions at once as she ushered him into her office.  
  
  
“Rose is fine,” he said hastily. “I’m actually here about a professional matter. Well, sort of. I was wondering if you could run me through the Patronus Act you passed.”  
  
  
“Any particular reason?” she asked, already consulting a vast bookshelf that ran the full length and width of one of the walls.  
  
  
“Well, I sort of – had this idea.”  
  
  
She pulled a leatherbound volume marked ‘Wizengamot 2009’ and began leafing through it. “Go on.”  
  
  
“I attended an accident last night – ”  
  
  
“I thought you were in the Emergency department at Mungo’s.”  
  
  
“Yeah, I am. This was outside of work – it was a car accident. Muggles.”  
  
  
“Ah,” Hermione said. “You’re not in trouble with the Ministry for intervening, are you? Because the Act has very clear grounds – ”  
  
  
“No, I don’t think the Ministry knows. But it gave me an idea – I was wondering if the Act would cover a group of Healers who specifically provided assistance to Muggles.”  
  
  
“A non-profit?”  
  
  
“Yeah. I thought I’d call it the Hopping Pot Foundation.”  
  
  
That got him a smile, at least. “I’d need some more detail about how you plan to run the operation before I can advise you properly. The Patronus Act was designed for one-off incidents and for covert protection, such as Shield Charms – your biggest problem will be with the Statute of Secrecy. It’s technically the foundation document for the Ministry of Magic, and it acts as our constitution – every law and judgement the Ministry passes has to be within the confines of the Statute. There’s no way you could advertise this, for example – at least not amongst Muggles.”  
  
  
“What if we had a cover operation?” Scorpius asked. “We look like a Muggle hospital or trauma unit, and we have some memory and perception charms for the patients.”  
  
  
“Legally, that would work. But if you’re just going to take patients who would otherwise go into hospitals – you need to think about why you’re doing what you’re doing. Muggle medicine is very advanced, equal to magical Healing, actually – and Muggle doctors study for far longer at a far higher level than you did. Offering magical Healing to Muggles who don’t have  _access_  to conventional medicine, that would be worth your time. But offering it because you think Healing is better than medicine – well. It’s a hero complex at best.”  
  
  
“So what kind of Muggles wouldn’t have access to medicine?”  
  
  
“People who can’t afford it, people who for some reason can’t get to a doctor or hospital? This isn’t my area of expertise, I would suggest having a word to Muggle Liaison – I know there’s a young man there who was at school with you and Rose – ”  
  
  
 _At school with_  was scratching the surface as far as Alfie Harrison was concerned. “Yeah, I’ll go have a word with him next, I think. Thanks, Hermione.”  
  
  
“Keep me updated,” she called after him. “Oh – and if you see my daughter, tell her to owl me. Or  _visit_.”  
  
  
“Will do,” he returned, quietly thinking that anyone outside Hogwarts would have a right hard time trying to get hold of Rose for love or money. It was still early, so he stopped by Diagon Alley for breakfast and lingered over the café’s copy of the  _Prophet_  until nine o’clock when the Ministry opened.  
  
  
“You want to do what?” Alfie asked twenty minutes later, raising an eyebrow at Scorpius from behind his desk.  
  
  
“Provide free magical medical care to Muggles,” he repeated, waving his arms a bit. “You know. The  _Hopping Pot_  Foundation.”  
  
  
“In Britain?”  
  
  
“Well, yeah. That’s what I thought – unless – ” he hesitated. “Do you think I could set something up overseas?”  
  
  
“In third world countries? Yeah, definitely – and I think there would be a demand for it as well. The Statute of Secrecy prevents wizards in developing nations from helping Muggles in poverty, but we’ve got the Patronus Act, and as long as you don’t reveal anything of  _those_  countries’ wizarding communities…have you heard of Doctors Without Borders?”  
  
  
“No?”  
  
  
“I didn’t think you would, it’s essentially the Muggle equivalent. I’d suggest you do some research first, find out the areas of greatest need and whether you have the skills to help. Where are you at the moment, Emergency?”  
  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
  
“Well…there are the places that have issues with civil war, landmines, civilian casualties and the rest of it…don’t tell your mum I suggested you go to a  _warzone_ , that’s more than my life’s worth, but if you really wanted to help…”  
  
  
“I do,” Scorpius said earnestly. “I really, really do.”  
  
  
“All right,” Alfie said, after a long pause. “Look into Syria, Iraq and South Sudan to begin with, and get back to me when you’ve done a bit of groundwork and gotten a team together.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
He had to swing by Mungo’s to pick up some of the textbooks he kept in his locker – there was at least one chapter in each about Muggle injuries and ailments (dealing with gunshot wounds, car crashes injuries, cancer, AIDS - most commonly found among Muggleborn wizards and even then, once in a blue moon) which he hadn’t even looked at since his exams. Having fished out the required books and stacked them (Rose had helped him do an Undetectable Extension Charm on his locker so it was a veritable library – he and Albus didn’t have enough room in their poky studio for all their books) he paused at Albus’s locker across from his own, and remembered their conversation the previous night about moving out to the country.  
  
  
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, staring at the stack of books in his arms. He and Albus had been together for eight years, and in those eight years they had managed to be perfectly in sync – well, apart from the disaster of seventh year and the bigger disaster of Scorpius’s addiction, and the inevitable clashing of their vastly different sensibilities – but they had always wanted the  _same things_  out of life. To be Healers, to live in London and then to leave London when the time was right, to get married in their early twenties, to have  _dogs_. And suddenly Scorpius was planning to fuck off to a warzone in Sudan or Iraq on a wing, a prayer and an inflated sense of altruism?  
  
  
And whether Albus chose to follow him or not, he was fucking up their plans. If they both left, Albus was giving up his stable job and good income and they’d have to give Aeneas away…and if Albus stayed behind – how long would Scorpius be gone? What kind of marriage would that be, him gone most of the time just when they were officially starting their lives together?  
  
  
For the first time, he understood what people his age meant when they talked about being _tied down._  He’d always taken that idea with a grain of salt, thought it was the kind of thing lonely people told themselves to feel better about not having anyone to wake up to in the morning (which was a shitty thing for him to think and he knew it, but he’d been in love since he was fourteen and he couldn’t imagine a life without Albus, without being one half of a whole; and nor did he want to) but now – he was twenty-one and his future was a lot less clear than it had been at eighteen, and the route he and Albus had so carefully mapped out wasn’t the only one anymore. Even if nothing happened with the Hopping Pot Foundation, Albus had put his name down for a fellowship at a new magical psychiatric hospital in Canada, and even though he had barely six months experience in the field and he was one of hundreds of applicants across the world he was exceptional enough to be in with a chance anyway. They had thrown around pipe dreams before,  _what ifs_  voiced only in the dark as if confessing them in daylight made them too real, because no matter how much their lives started moving in opposite directions they were bound, inexplicably and permanently, to each other.  
  
  
It would never have been a question of whether Albus would go with him. It was a question of whether Scorpius would ask him to.


	11. xi. epiphanies [or] the ace of hearts

Holly was about eighty percent sure that her days had shortened by about six to eight hours since she started teaching at Hogwarts. She never realised how  _balanced_ her days were as a student – she worked hard, sure, but she had no more than four hours class time a day, meaning she had plenty of time to study, do her assignments, look after herself and her flat, sleep, and have hobbies. Here, though, she was teaching or marking from eight till five thirty, went to dinner, and headed back to the staffroom from seven till midnight to finish her marking, do lesson plans, attend various meetings, hold her office hour from eight till nine on Tuesdays and Fridays, and socialise with the other staff. She missed photography, and doing things that didn’t directly involve teaching, and was starting to get sick of her own subject.  
  
  
And then there was Brodie. She’d never expected keeping her relationship with a colleague secret in a school full of teenagers would be easy, but it was even more monumentally difficult than she thought. With half the staff under thirty and therefore semi-nocturnal, and the senior students having their curfews extended to midnight on Friday and Saturday nights, it was impossible for one of them to slip nonchalantly into the other’s quarters without odd looks (students) or inappropriate comments (staff) that made them both uncomfortable.  
  
  
It was after Asher had caught Holly’s eye as she headed for Brodie’s office late one Thursday night, winking and saying _“Eyy, have fun,”_  that she felt the need to broach the topic with her sort-of-boyfriend-definitely-romantic-interest.  
  
  
“All the staff think we’re sleeping together.”  
  
  
“Well,” Brodie said, “ _Technically_ we are. I mean, you do sleep in my bed. Next to me.”  
  
  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
  
“Yeah.” Brodie sighed. “We could tell them, but I don’t think I want to sit through the inevitable  _‘What do you guys actually do,’_  and  _‘Is this like an abstinence thing,'_  and  _‘I didn’t know you were religious,’_  and  _‘So you’re just taking it slow?’”_  
  
  
“Ugh,” Holly said. She crossed the room, putting the kettle on and taking two mugs from where they were perched precariously on top of a pile of runic texts. “We could just ask them to tone down the innuendo a bit. I mean, it’s not exactly appropriate in a school.”  
  
  
“That’s probably a better idea.” There was a brief silence, like Brodie was figuring out whether to say what he was about to. “Unless – maybe we  _should_ come out. For…visibility, you know? How many ace kids do you think there are in this castle right now who think they’re broken or something’s wrong with them?”  
  
  
“Yeah.” Holly drummed her fingers on the table. “I mean, I’ve been in the middle of the queer rights movement almost since it started, and a lot of it’s based on sex –it makes sense, because we’re talking about sexuality and destigmatising it and the rest of it – but there’s never been much of an ace voice. Probably because I don’t like to raise mine.”  
  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
  
The kettle started whistling, and Holly took it off the heat. “Apparently Queer Hogwarts is going to start up a section in  _Draco Dormiens_.”  
  
  
“And?” Brodie prompted.  
  
  
“And the first thing they want to do is highlight the openly queer staff. For visibility, you know, and if kids need someone to talk to but don’t want to out themselves to their peers.”  
  
  
“We could go on that list,” Brodie agreed slowly. “And we could probably include a bit about what asexuality is, which would hopefully stop all the dumb questions.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Holly agreed. Then, “I  _really_ want to do this.”  
  
  
“Let’s do it.”  
  
  
Holly finished up the tea (milk, one sugar for her; no sugar for Brodie) and brought it into his sleeping quarters, slipping off her shoes and climbing into bed. “Promise?” she asked suddenly, when she was curled up against him and his fingers were idly stroking her hair.  
  
  
“Yeah. What’s going on, Holly?”  
  
  
“I’m just sick of it,” she burst out. “I’m sick of all the sly comments and the winks and the innuendo and the rumours and everything, I’m  _sick_ of it and I wish it didn’t make me as uncomfortable as it does because I try so hard to be sex-positive and open-minded but I hate it, I hate it and I wish I hadn’t – ”  
  
  
She froze, biting her lip, and put her tea down before she could spill it. Her hands were shaking.  
  
  
“You wish you hadn’t…?” Brodie asked, softly. “Hey. Talk to me.”  
  
  
“I had a girlfriend in my second year of training,” she said, staring at her hands twisting in her lap. “Her name was Cerise, she was training for Beauxbatons. And she was lovely, and things were going really well, and we’d been together for about six months, and she said she loved me, and I loved her too and that was great, but – she wasn’t ace, she was demi, and she didn’t realise that until she fell in love with me and realised that she wanted to sleep with me, so…” She trailed off.  
  
  
“So you slept with her?”  
  
  
“I wanted to make her happy,” Holly said, and it sounded even worse when she put it into words. “And I think I did, for a while, but she knew I didn’t like it, and she didn’t like that i was doing something I didn’t like, and I didn’t want her to miss out because of me, and we just…couldn’t agree. So that was the end of that. I didn’t even tell Rose.”  
  
  
“Why not?”  
  
  
“Rose…” She hesitated, trying to gather her thoughts. “Rose sees the world in black and white, even though she’ll say she doesn’t, and she knows I’m ace and that I don’t want to have sex, so she thinks if I do then it’s someone’s fault, like someone’s pushed me into it or manipulated me and then – ” She waved her arms vaguely. “All hell would break loose. And I knew she wouldn’t understand that I did it because I wanted to make Cerise feel good, but then after we broke up I started thinking that, you know, it was all for nothing and I  _betrayed_ myself, somehow. Which is dumb,” she concluded.  
  
  
“You know there’s no gold star system for sexuality.”  
  
  
“I know, but – ”  
  
  
“I know you know.” He sighed. “I meant whether you’ve understood it, absorbed it, let it seep into the deepest darkest corners of your soul. You are who you are, Holly, and the individual circumstances of every relationship you’ve been in don’t change that. I’m not exactly gold star material either. I’m probably not even whatever the hell comes after bronze.”  
  
  
“Really?”  
  
  
“Really really. I have straight friends who have slept with less women than me – in hindsight that’s a really weird thing to say to make you feel better – but I didn’t even know asexuality was a thing until I was twenty-two, I just thought people exaggerated a  _lot_ about how much they liked sex.”  
  
  
She had to smile at that.  _“Right?”_  
  
  
“And then I thought something was wrong with me,” he continued, his tone shifting slightly. “And my girlfriend at the time didn’t help – she literally said ‘I think something’s wrong with you, you should go to a Healer,’ so off we went and she’s happily listing off all my – well – performance issues – to this Healer, who eventually turns to me and goes ‘Son. Are you sure you’re heterosexual?’”  
  
  
“I can’t believe I haven’t heard this story before.”  
  
  
“I can’t believe I haven’t told it. So I go ‘Well, yeah. I don’t like men or anything – ’”  
  
  
“Babe,” Holly said fondly.  
  
  
“Meanwhile my girlfriend’s glaring daggers at this Healer, going ‘He’s not  _gay_ ,’ in the most offended voice I’ve ever heard, and the Healer flat out ignores her and says ‘You could be asexual,’ so I said ‘What’s that’ and he said ‘Asexuals don’t experience sexual attraction to anyone’ and I had my epiphany moment right there and said ‘Yeah, that sounds like me. Do I still have to pay you?’”  
  
  
“Oh my  _God_ ,” Holly managed through her giggles. “So did you still have to pay him?”  
  
  
“Unfortunately.” Brodie sighed heavily. “Twelve Galleons to tell me something I could have realised in a sexuality pamphlet in the waiting room. The girlfriend didn’t stick around either.”  
  
  
“Sounds like a blessing.”  
  
  
“Yeah, she was a bit…awful. But I dated a few girls after that, and I slept with some of them, even though I knew I was ace and I’d told them, because – well, exactly what you said. Because it’s never black and white, being in a relationship with a sexual person, especially if you want that relationship to last, and it seems like we’re always the ones who have to compromise.”  
  
  
He said those last words like he’d been holding onto them for years, and Holly knew the feeling, had worried about it constantly since she’d ended things with Cerise. “We don’t have to anymore,” she said, softly, and realised as she spoke them the permanence of her words.  
  
  
“No,” he agreed, and leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead. “No, we don’t.”


	12. xii. cross the line [or] don't say the a word

 “Coffee?”  
  
  
It was late on a Friday night, and Rose was leaning in the doorway of Holly’s office after taking a moment to marvel that she was actually  _there_ , surrounded by stacks of parchment.  
  
  
The Friday before Halloween was traditionally a major deadline at Hogwarts, with major assignments out of the way so the students could have a breather during the first days of November. It was a pattern Rose and her friends had noticed when they were at school, though Vector had told them it was unofficial school policy to give the students a break, and to have all their major deadlines for the first half of term as the twenty-ninth at the latest. It meant all the staff had more marking than they knew what to do with, and after she’d failed five of her fourth-year Slytherins’ essays before she got halfway through the stack, she decided it was time for a break.  
  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Holly said emphatically. “Hogwarts Espresso?”  
  
  
There was a small collection of cafes in Hogsmeade, hidden to those under eighteen thanks to a meticulously maintained Age Line, which did a roaring trade in providing caffeine and a teenager-free environment to Hogwarts staff and locals who preferred to avoid gaggles of students. The most famous of these – undoubtedly because of the stellar pun of its name – was the Hogwarts Espresso. Herbert had shown it to her several weeks ago and they met there quite frequently to touch base and make sure Rose was coping well with her classes.  
  
  
“Perfect,” Rose said, and waited for Holly to grab her coat and purse.  
  
  
“It’s been ages,” Holly said, making polite chit-chat as they made their way through the castle.  
  
  
“It has,” Rose agreed. “We need to do this more often.”  
  
  
A group of fourth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins hurried past. “Curfew in twenty minutes!” Rose called after them.  
  
  
“Just heading back now, Professor!”  
  
  
“Going to be cold tonight,” Holly said conversationally, rubbing her hands together and neatly sidestepping four stampeding senior boys. “No running in the corridors!”  
  
  
“Sorry, Professor.”  
  
  
“We’re meant to be heading into a cold snap,” Rose agreed.  
  
  
They reached the Entrance Hall, breaking into a trot as they neared the doors and shoved them open. Holly glanced around for students and closed the doors firmly behind them.  
  
  
“Thank  _fuck_ ,” Rose burst out as they legged it to the path leading to Hogsmeade. “So how’s Brodie?”  
  
  
“Are you still sleeping with Sean?”  
  
  
Holly laughed, linking her arm with Rose’s. “I never realised how hard it is to be  _appropriate_ all the time.”  
  
  
“Right?” Rose sighed. “One of my students blew up their cauldron of Swelling Solution last week and I had to beg the whole class not to tell anyone I said ‘ _fuck_.’ And to answer your question, yes I am still sleeping with Sean. How’s Brodie?”  
  
  
“Good,” Holly beamed. “We made it official.”  
  
  
“What? You  _did_ _?_  When?”  
  
  
“About a week ago.”  
  
  
“You kept that quiet!”  
  
  
“The walls have ears,” Holly said in a hushed whisper. “And I see those ears in my Arithmancy classes every day.”  
  
  
“Well, there are no walls here. So how did that happen?”  
  
  
“We had this big conversation about a lot of stuff, including some things I’ve never told anyone before, and – ”  
  
  
“Things you’ve never told me?” Rose interrupted, trying not to sound as hurt as she felt.  
  
  
Holly looked guilty. “Yeah, but not – secrets or anything. Just stuff that only really makes sense from an ace perspective.”  
  
  
“Oh.” Rose swallowed the words she wanted to say, words like _I can still understand where you’re coming from_  and  _We’re meant to be best friends_ and a thousand other things spurred on by a barb of jealousy deep in her gut. “Right, fair enough. So then what?”  
  
  
“It’s not a very exciting story. We went to bed after that, and then when I woke up the next morning he passed me a coffee and said  _I’ve been thinking_  and I said  _about what_  and he said  _how amazing you are and how I’d very much like to be your boyfriend_  – ”  
  
  
“That’s  _adorable_.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Holly said happily. “So I told him I’d very much like him to be my boyfriend and that was that.”  
  
  
“I’m really happy for you.”  
  
  
“Thanks.” Holly beamed. “So, you and Sean. Are you just fuckbuddies?”  
  
  
“Yeah. That’s official now too.”  
  
  
“How do you make a fuckbuddy arrangement official?”  
  
  
“You pretty much tell them ‘I like sleeping with you, let’s keep doing it indefinitely.’”  
  
  
“Like Alfie?”  
  
  
“Alfie wasn’t really a fuckbuddy. More of an inevitability.”  
  
  
“Which is a fancy way of saying you didn’t have any kind of arrangement, you just ended up in each other’s beds a lot.”  
  
  
“Exactly. I’m glad you understand the nuances here. Anyway, we should talk about something other than dudes because we’re failing the real-life Bechdel test.”  
  
  
Holly wrinkled her nose. “We sound a bit straight.”  
  
  
“Ew.” Rose cocked her head thoughtfully. “D’you get a gay vibe from Jess Macaulay at all?”  
  
  
“Don’t sleep with any more of the staff.”  
  
  
“I can’t tell whether she gives off gay vibes or if it’s just wishful thinking,” Rose continued, ignoring her. “I assume everyone’s queer until proven straight.”  
  
  
“We have to work here for  _years_. Build up a bit of sexual tension over time, at the very least.”  
  
  
“But I’m a  _hedonist_.”  
  
  
“File that under ‘things we didn’t see coming five years ago.’”  
  
  
“I was so boring five years ago.”  
  
  
“We were all a bit boring pre-scholarship.”  
  
  
“I should tell George that,” Rose mused. “He’d be proud. Are you coming out in _Draco Dormiens?”_  
  
  
“Yeah. I’m sick of the staff thinking Brodie and I are sleeping together.”  
  
  
“I’ve been hearing that too. I didn’t want to out you though.”  
  
  
“You have my express permission to do that next time.”  
  
  
They stepped into the enveloping warmth of the Hogwarts Espresso, gratefully shedding coats and scarves and ordering (caramel latte for Holly, cappucino for Rose). “Late night, ladies?” the barista asked.  
  
  
“Unfortunately,” Rose said, rummaging in her purse for a handful of Sickles.  
  
  
“What’s going on up at the school? I’ve had at least four other teachers come down for coffee tonight.”  
  
  
“Big marking weekend,” Holly explained. “We like to give the kids Halloween off, so they handed in everything today.”  
  
  
“Well, good luck. Takeaway?”  
  
  
Rose shuddered. “No, no, I don’t want to see the castle for at least another hour.”  
  
  
He chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ll bring those over for you.”  
  
  
They took a table in the corner beside an invitingly roaring fire and got down to the serious business of catching up.  
  
  
“I miss Lester and Lily,” Holly said suddenly, breaking a lull in the conversation as they drained the last of their coffees. “We haven’t seen them at all since we moved up here.”  
  
  
“Yeah.” Rose frowned. “Lily wrote to me a few weeks ago, saying they’ve moved back to London – ”  
  
  
“James’s old place?”  
  
  
“Yeah. She’s working part-time at the Two-Feathered Phoenix, and he’s started working with some startup company.”  
  
  
“What startup company?”  
  
  
Rose shrugged. “I can’t remember the name of it, but I think they do inventions and stuff? They’re supplying the Wasps with new broomsticks.”  
  
  
“We can ask him about it at the wedding.”  
  
  
“The  _wedding_ ,” Rose repeated. “It’s barely a week away. I can’t believe it.”  
  
  
“I need to buy film.”  
  
  
“I need to buy a  _dress_.”  
  
  
“You haven’t bought a dress yet?”  
  
  
Rose pulled a face. “Time got away from me. It’s okay. I’ll go into London tomorrow.”  
  
  
“I’ll come with you,” Holly said. “Depending on how my marking goes.”  
  
  
“My students have learned to lower their expectations of my marking speed,” Rose said. “I was thinking about surprising them with their results on Monday, but they can wait.”  
  
  
“You can probably get a couple of classes done.”  
  
  
“I’ll do the fourth-years, they’ll be the antsiest. I set them their first essay for an OWL level potion and I told them it was more diagnostic than anything, I don’t  _expect_ them to be OWL level, but I think they’re panicking.”  
  
  
“I told my fourth-year Ravenclaws that I was introducing them to an OWL-level concept and they screamed.”  
  
  
“Bless,” Rose said fondly, before pausing. “Wait a minute. Didn’t we do that?”  
  
  
“You didn’t take Arithmancy.”  
  
  
“I did,” Rose said indignantly. “I  _so_ did. You, me and Lester until fifth year, and the boys took Muggle Studies.”  
  
  
“Oh,” Holly said. “Oh, right, you did.”  
  
  
“I’m glad I made such an impression on you in that class.”  
  
  
“It was  _Arithmancy_ ,” Holly said. “Professor Vector could have showed up to class naked every day and I wouldn’t have noticed as long as she kept teaching the theory.”  
  
  
“Well. I’m glad she didn’t. But we definitely screamed the first time she said OWLs. At least whimpered a bit.”  
  
  
With perfect timing, Holly checked her watch and whimpered a bit. “It’s nearly midnight.”  
  
  
Rose glanced guiltily at the barista. “We should probably get going.”  
  
  
With numerous apologies to the barista for keeping him from going home (“No, it’s fine, we close at twelve on Fridays anyway,”) they headed back out onto High Street. As they passed the Three Broomsticks, Rose spotted a familiar figure sitting alone at the bar.  
  
  
“I’m just gonna pop in and make sure Teddy’s all right,” she said. After a brief glance around the deserted street, Holly followed her.  
  
  
“Everything okay?” she asked, pulling up a stool beside him.  
  
  
“Not really, actually, Rose.”  
  
  
“What happened?”  
  
  
Teddy opened his mouth, looked up, saw Holly and fell silent again.  
  
  
“I can go,” Holly offered.  
  
  
“No,” Teddy and Rose said simultaneously.  
  
  
“I don’t want you out there on your own,” Rose said.  
  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Holly insisted.  
  
  
“What if you’re not?” Rose asked pointedly, and Holly fell silent. “Ted, come up to the castle with us. We can talk in my office – or alternatively, drink in my office.”  
  
  
“The second one sounds good,” Teddy agreed, and followed them somewhat reluctantly out of the pub.  
  
  
The walk back to the castle was a silent one, with Rose giving up attempts at conversation after monosyllabic responses from Teddy. “Let me know if you’re still going to London tomorrow,” Holly said once they got to the Entrance Hall, and promptly disappeared.  
  
  
“I’m sorry I ruined your evening,” Teddy said. He seemed to be getting more morose by the minute.  
  
  
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Rose assured him, leading him back to her office. She sat him down, eyeing her liquor cabinet, before deciding Teddy was beyond caring and would drink anything she put in front of him. She brewed tea instead.  
  
  
“What happened?”  
  
  
“I went to see Vic.”  
  
  
Rose squirmed. She didn’t want to get involved in the details of her cousin’s marriage, but it was too late to back out now. “And?” she prompted.  
  
  
“It didn’t go well.”  
  
  
“I could tell by the fact you were drinking alone at the Three Broomsticks. What happened?”  
  
  
Teddy exhaled slowly. “I suppose you’d take it better than she did.”  
  
  
She didn’t bother pressing him for details this time.  
  
  
“I told her I’m genderqueer.”  
  
  
“Oh.” Rose hesitated, not sure which of the thousand questions running through her mind was best to ask. “So…how did she react?”  
  
  
“She asked me if I was confused. Then she asked me if I was trans. Then she asked me if I could ‘pick one.’ I said no.”  
  
  
“That was a bit ignorant of her.”  
  
  
“She said she married a man,” Teddy continued. “And that I should come back ‘when I’m ready to be her husband again.’”  
  
  
“Bitch,” Rose muttered under her breath. Then, louder, “Fuck her.”  
  
  
“She can fuck herself, to be honest.”  
  
  
Deciding she didn’t want to go down this particular road, Rose took a long gulp of tea. “Do you have any preferred pronouns?”  
  
  
“Oh.” Teddy looked startled. “Oh. Right. Yeah. They and them, if you could.”  
  
  
“No problem. Do you want me to tell other people?”  
  
  
“I’m going to come out in _Draco Dormiens,_  that seems to be the done thing. But if you could correct them – you know, if they get it wrong after.”  
  
  
“Of course. Your students don’t call you _sir?_ ”  
  
  
“Nah. I never let them. It’s Professor Lupin or nothing.”  
  
  
“How long have you known?”  
  
  
“Long enough to not let my students call me  _sir_.”  
  
  
Rose nodded. “Anything else I can do?”  
  
  
“You could give my wife lessons in tolerance.” Teddy laughed bitterly. “No, really, Rose. Thank you. For being so understanding.”  
  
  
“I’d be a pretty shit queer rights activist if I wasn’t.”  
  
  
“Yeah, that’s true.”  
  
  
There was too much tension in the silence that followed. Later, when Rose would pick through that moment with a fine-toothed comb, trying to lay blame (she was not a good person; and nor had she ever claimed to be) it was still impossible to find who had moved first – whose lips had brushed whose, whose body had pressed against the other’s – only that they must have crossed that line together because Teddy was in her bedroom, and Teddy’s hands were on her body and Teddy’s clothes were on her floor, and she knew exactly what she was doing.  
  
  
A whisper in the dark, the glint of a wedding band. “I’m married.”  
  
  
Her voice in reply, breathless.  _Reckless_. “I know.”


	13. xiii. reconciliation [or] the truth will set you free

The third time Lester visited Enchanted Engineering Enterprises’ Hull warehouse, Alex greeted him with a stack of textbooks.  
  
  
“Morning,” she said cheerfully, piling them into his arms. “Get reading.”  
  
  
“Er,” he said.  
  
  
“We’re working on a new project,” Ella explained from the huge rough-hewn table which served as their planning space. “We want to end magical interference with electronic devices – ”  
  
  
“You and everyone else involved in magical innovation for the past forty years.”  
  
  
“They’ve been coming at it from the wrong angle,” Aidan said. “They’ve been focusing on the magical side of things – and magical solutions. We want to look at the science behind it.”  
  
  
“I have a degree in software engineering,” Ella said matter-of-factly. “You’re holding my first year textbooks. They’re a few years out of date by now, but you should get the gist.”  
  
  
“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” Aidan asked.  
  
  
“I’ve got a meeting with the Wasps at seven, they’re announcing the new captaincy – ”  
  
  
“So you’ll be here all day,” Aidan interrupted. “You should get through a decent chunk of  _Introduction to Programming_  then.”  
  
  
It was sort of comforting, knowing that no matter what was going on in his professional life, there were four nerds in a warehouse in Hull who didn’t give a flying fuck as long as he did science with them on a semi-regular basis. So he brewed himself a cup of tea, fixed the heating charms and settled in for a long morning.  
  
  
He didn’t  _technically_ need to be on site, but Lily was going straight from Harpies practice to her shift at the Two-Feathered Phoenix and he decided after leaving Glasgow that his days mooching around home by himself were over (a decision Albus had wholeheartedly endorsed). It was nice having somewhere to be all the time, even if E3’s financial situation meant coming here was more of an all-consuming hobby than an actual job.  
  
  
“D’you have any spare paper lying around?” he asked the room at large. “I want to take some notes.”  
  
  
“Incoming,” Alex warned, and an exercise book flapped its way over to him and landed with a satisfying slap on the table. “Do you need a pen?”  
  
  
“Nah, I’ve got one.” He fished it from his pocket and started scrawling. “Ella, is there anything in particular I should be paying attention to?”  
  
  
“Not at this point,” Ella called. “I just want everyone to have a basic knowledge of computer science and we can go from there. Alex, have you read  _Understanding App Development_ yet?”  
  
  
“I’ve read a chapter of it,” Alex said.  
  
  
“You’ve got twelve to go. Where’s Thomas?”  
  
  
“Still talking to  _Which Broomstick_. He’s bringing back coffee.”  
  
  
“Legend,” Ella said appreciatively. “Keep reading, everyone. I want to have a planning session next Thursday if we can.”  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
By 4pm he had read all he could bear to read about computer programming and was hungry as hell to boot (E3 believed in keeping a constant supply of caffeine and biscuits in the warehouse but nothing else, and that anything not already in the warehouse was not worth stopping work to get. Lunch fell squarely into that category). After promising to read more at home, he returned gratefully to his flat and was just making toast when a loud thud told him he wasn’t alone.  
  
  
His bedroom door was closed, and he knocked cautiously. “Lily?”  
  
  
“Come in.”  
  
  
She was sitting on the floor, hair a mess and eyes puffy, wearing half her Harpies uniform and half her Phoenix one. “I called in sick,” she said, voice flat.  
  
  
“What happened?”  
  
  
“They dumped me.” She yanked off her left boot and threw it against the wall; it collided with the same thud he’d heard earlier. “They fucking dumped me. I’m a reserve.”  
  
  
“What? Why?”  
  
  
“You know how they’ve been after Layla Thomsett for like, three years?”  
  
  
Lester nodded. Layla Thomsett was Puddlemere United’s star player, and it was an open secret that the Harpies had been trying to poach her for years. There had never been any possibility of them succeeding, though, because the Harpies were seventh in the league and Puddlemere had held top spot for three seasons.  
  
  
“She had a fight with her manager,” Lily continued. “Next thing I know she’s signing a two-year contract as our new Seeker and I’m on the bench.”  
  
  
“That’s bullshit.”  
  
  
“You’re telling me.” Lily glared at the Harpies jersey lying crumpled beside her. “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about my reserve covering me for Albus’s wedding. Or being benched for conflict of interest when we play the Wasps.”  
  
  
“I hate that rule. What do they think we’d do? Let each other win?”  
  
  
“I dunno,” Lily said seriously. “I’d probably let you catch the Snitch if you promised me breakfast in bed for a month.”  
  
  
“Does it have to be good breakfast?”  
  
  
“I expect at least eggs on toast every morning.”  
  
  
“Not worth it,” he decided. “See, they’ve got nothing to worry about with us.” He offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet. “I’m going to go shower and make tea if you want to join me.”  
  
  
A smile broke across her face. “Yeah? How much time do you have before your meeting?”  
  
  
“Plenty,” he assured her, and she leaned forward and kissed him.  
  
  
“Good.”  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
The Wasps’ training ground had a small clubroom built above the locker room, which Lester had been into only once in his life when he signed his contract. There was tea and coffee in the kitchenette with a dozen mugs laid out, though none of his teammates had touched it. Damien was standing near the front of the room with their manager, and Lester felt a twinge of nervousness deep in his gut. Now that the captaincy announcement was barely ten minutes away, he was beginning to realise how much he  _wanted_ the job, not only for the increased pay but because he’d missed being in a position of leadership more than he’d expected. He was sick of feeling expendable.  
  
  
At the very least, he thought as he took his seat, if everything went badly tonight he and Lily could wallow together in the shattered dreams of their Quidditch careers. They had an enduring philosophy that there was very little in the world that couldn’t be fixed with sex or tea – though the inevitable sense of ennui that would come from failing the one goal he had set himself since finishing Hogwarts probably fell into that category.  
  
  
This was probably why he wasn’t much fun at parties.  
  
  
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Damien began, as if there was a single member of the Wasps who hadn’t been waiting anxiously to hear him announce his successor for weeks now. “Now, I know you’re probably all eager to know who I’ve chosen – ”  
  
  
“Yeah!” Jack Corner, one of their Beaters, called. “Get on with it!”  
  
  
“I set myself up for that one,” Damien sighed. “Right, anyway. As you probably all know, it hasn’t been easy choosing between you. You’re all amazing players and valuable members of the team, and I’d have picked you all if I could.”  
  
  
“Give us a name!” Becca Sanders interrupted.  
  
  
“I’m getting there. My successor, however, isn’t just an excellent player, but has proven themselves to be an excellent strategist, committed to the team, capable of taking on leadership roles and – most importantly – taking nobody’s bullshit on or off the pitch. That person is Lester.”  
  
  
“What?” Lester asked blankly.  
  
  
“Get up here,” Damien said, and he did, the next few moments passing in a blur of handshakes and claps on the shoulder and  _congratulations, mate_  as the team surrounded him.  
  
  
“You’ll need to sign a new contract,” his manager was telling him, and it wasn’t until he was signing his name to a form headed  _CAPTAINCY OF THE WIMBOURNE WASPS_  while his manager talked about letting the press know that it started properly sinking in.  
  
  
“I’m the captain,” he said in wonder to nobody in particular, and Damien grinned.  
  
  
“Knew it’d sink in eventually. Right, so I’m leaving after the game with the Magpies, so the team will be all yours after the New Year. If you’ve got any questions, best to ask them sometime between now and then.”  
  
  
“Yeah, will do.”  
  
  
“You’ll make a damn good captain,” Damien continued. “I’m leaving the team in good hands.”  
  
  
He didn’t really know how to respond to that, so he just nodded.  
  
  
“Go home,” Damien advised. “I’ll see you at practice on Friday.”  
  
  
“Right,” he said, fairly sure he still wasn’t reacting the way he was supposed to, and Apparated home in a daze.  
  
  
“You look like a stunned mullet,” Lily greeted him.  
  
  
“They made me captain.”  
  
  
“You know, for an overachiever, you’re pretty bad at comprehending your own success.” She cocked her head slightly, reaching up to tug his cheeks into a smile. “There we go. Congratulations.”  
  
  
He smiled then, properly, the reality that he had  _succeeded_ , finally, after what felt like a lifetime of failure exploding across his mind like fireworks, and he pulled Lily close and kissed her with a passion that made him feel seventeen again.  
  
  
There was a clatter behind them, and they turned to see Freddie making coffee at the counter. “Don’t let me distract you,” he said cheerfully.  
  
  
“It’d take more than you to distract me from her,” Lester said without thinking, but he didn’t stick around to see Freddie’s reaction because Lily was already dragging him into their bedroom and slamming the door behind them.  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
A couple of days later Lily came home with a stack of brochures and prospectuses, two official-looking forms, and coffee.  
  
  
“What’s all that?” Lester asked as she dumped the stack on the kitchen table and passed him coffee. Ella had called a planning meeting for Thursday morning as promised, and so far he’d managed to find nothing in any of her textbooks that could possibly help with eliminating magical interference. He told himself they were just starting out, but he had to  _prove_ himself somehow; prove that E3 hadn’t colossally fucked up when they asked him to work for them.  
  
  
“Lots of stuff,” Lily replied, sitting down opposite him and frowning. “You don’t have a quill handy, do you?”  
  
  
“I haven’t bought quills since I finished Hogwarts.”  
  
  
“Damn. You need to fill out Ministry forms with a quill. I might still have one – ”  
  
  
“What Ministry forms?”  
  
  
“Marriage licence,” she said matter-of-factly. “I was at the Ministry anyway, thought I’d pick a couple up. Especially because I ran into Albus this morning and he put off getting his until now – ”  
  
  
“The wedding’s on  _Saturday_ ,” Lester said, aghast. “Doesn’t it have to be signed by a bunch of people?”  
  
  
“He’s running around like a headless chicken,” Lily nodded solemnly. “Anyway, I figure we can get these filled out and if we happen to run into any notaries or whatever we’ve got them ready to go, because I’m really good at learning from my brother’s fuck-ups.” She got up, disappearing into their bedroom briefly and emerging triumphant. “Aha.  _Quill_.”  
  
  
It was a sorry-looking quill, battered and chewed. “Tybalt?”  
  
  
“Tybalt,” Lily confirmed, frowning at it. “We should get him some chew toys – do they even make chew toys for cats? Are cats meant to chew things? Or is he just weird?”  
  
  
Lester shrugged. “He’d be happier with a box anyway. Can I nab that off you when you’re done?”  
  
  
Lily shook her head. “I’ll fill them both out, you’ve got shit to do.” She gestured at his pile of textbooks. “I’ll get your signature at the end, though.”  
  
  
“Probably a good idea,” he agreed, and turned his attention back to  _Software and Network Engineering: An Introduction._  
  
  
They worked in silence, apart from the odd question from Lily – “Fuck, when did I move in with you?”  
  
  
“I think it was July? July 2026? I think I’ve still got a copy of the lease agreement from Lithgow Lane if you need the exact date.”  
  
  
“I’ll have a hunt for it.” Then, “What’s my occupation? I don’t think the Harpies counts…”  
  
  
“Put it down for now, and you can change it if you need to.”  
  
  
A few more minutes passed, and Lily shuffled through the parchment. Then her quill stopped scratching, she started drumming her fingers on the table, and Lester looked up.  
  
  
“Everything okay?”  
  
  
“I know I should know this,” she blurted. “I know I should and I’m awful for not knowing and I’m  _sorry_ but I…um…need your parents’ names.”  
  
  
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, right. Yeah. They’re – um – Simon and Olivia.”  
  
  
“Olivia Raine?”  
  
  
“Yeah. Wait – no. No. She didn’t take Dad’s name, it’s – um – ” He floundered. “Fuck. It’s Heron. Like the bird. Olivia Heron.”  
  
  
She nodded, continuing to write, but Lester couldn’t concentrate on the text in front of him. He pushed it away, realising that Lily had been watching him.  
  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
  
“I had to think about it.”  
  
  
“What, your mum’s maiden name? That’s not – ”  
  
  
“No, their names. I had to think about their  _names_. I had to think about it and you didn’t even  _know_ – ”  
  
  
“I’m sorry – ”  
  
  
“I never told you,” he said, cutting her off. “Why would I need to? You’ve never met them. Jesus, I never expected – ”  
  
  
“Expected what?” she prompted.  
  
  
“That when I walked out the door it would be the last time I saw them. I dunno, I always thought that eventually they’d try to make contact, you know – they have my New Quarter address and I’ve had mail forwarding set up the whole time since I left. But they haven’t. It’s been nearly four years.”  
  
  
“I had no idea.” Lily put down her quill. “You know, Albus said something to me once, about you. He said nobody notices anything wrong with you unless you let them notice it.”  
  
  
“Right.” He was about a hundred and ten percent sure he didn’t want to have this conversation.  
  
  
“Yeah.” Lily didn’t look at him. “He was right. I thought I was the exception to the rule, but whatever.”  
  
  
“Lily – ”  
  
  
“What kind of relationship is this?” she asked, voice cracking. “If you can’t  _talk_ to me? If you can’t even admit to me that you wish your parents would write?”  
  
  
“I…don’t know.”  
  
  
“No.” She pushed the forms away, getting to her feet. “No, neither do I. I’ll be at Albus’s until you figure it out.”  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
He remembered nothing from E3’s planning meeting, though the others seemed to think he came up with good ideas (not that it mattered; it wasn’t like they were putting any money into him, and who the fuck cared about being able to use smartphones at Hogwarts anyway?) and came home to an empty flat.  
  
  
(He wasn’t expecting anything else. She’d told him to come and find her and he hadn’t, because he had nothing else to say to her except  _please come home_ , and that he couldn’t focus on anything but her absence, and he’d stayed up all night staring at the ceiling wishing with every fibre of his being that she was still beside him, and that was not what she needed to hear).  
  
  
So he did the unthinkable. He Apparated to Chichester.  
  
  
It was a Thursday afternoon, almost bang on lunchtime, and the late autumn sun struggled to warm the park he was walking through, skeletal trees casting jagged, spindly shadows in the grass. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time and wondered, briefly, if he should call.  
  
  
And say what? He put it back, and paused outside the tinted glass doors. Breathe, take a moment, pretend to study the sign ( _Davenport & Raine Chartered Accountants_) as if he didn’t know like the back of his hand where he was.  
  
  
He stepped inside. The heaters were on, the receptionist looked bored, and he fought the urge to turn around and walk out again.  
  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
  
“I’m here to see Simon Raine.”  
  
  
“Do you have an appointment?”  
  
  
“No. I’m his son.”  
  
  
She looked at him a moment, and he knew she was seeing what everyone else had always seen in him –  _the spitting image of your father_ , they’d say, down to the stiffly formal way he held himself (hands clasped behind the back, chin up, rocking, slightly uncomfortably, on his heels).  
  
  
She picked up the phone and dialled an extension. “Hello, Simon? Your son’s here to see you. No, just now. All right, I’ll send him down.”  
  
  
She looked up and smiled. “He’s waiting for you. Down the corridor, first door on your right.”  
  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
  
They’d renovated the office since the last time he’d been here – knocked down a few walls, recarpeted, moved his father’s office to the other side of the hallway with the bigger window (he must have worn Davenport down somehow) but it was the same coolly familiar plaque on the door. He briefly eyed the fire escape, before knocking.  
  
  
“Max? Come in.”  
  
  
“No,” he said, opening the door. “The other one.”  
  
  
Simon froze, a deer caught in the headlights. Silence fell, thick and heavy, broken only by the ticking of a clock on the wall. Lester swallowed. He had no idea what to say. He shouldn’t have come here, why did he come here –  
  
  
“Everything all right?”  
  
  
“Yeah. Fine.” And then, with Lily’s words ringing in his ears, “No. Actually. It’s been four years. Just – one letter. One letter would have been enough.”  
  
  
Simon’s jaw tightened. Without taking his eyes off Lester, he opened a filing cabinet and tossed an envelope onto his desk. And another, and another, until there were nearly two dozen, all addressed to Lester. Some even had stamps.  
  
  
“You can read them if you want,” Simon said eventually. “I got as far as the post box with some of them. Then I’d tell myself if you wanted to hear from us, you’d make contact.”  
  
  
He could feel his throat closing up, the tears threatening the corners of his eyes, but he gritted his teeth. He wasn’t ready to forgive, not for a pile of unsent letters in his father’s filing cabinet. “You made me think I didn’t matter.”  
  
  
“That’s not true.”  
  
  
“Don’t tell me what I did or didn’t feel. Don’t. Don’t you dare invalidate me.”  
  
  
“You’re my son. Of course you matter to me – ”  
  
  
“You don’t get to present that to me like it’s fact.”  
  
  
He didn’t respond to that. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, and closed the door behind Lester before picking up the phone. “Hi, Hannah? Could you clear my appointments for the rest of the day? Something’s come up.” He sat back down, gestured for Lester to do the same, and said, “I’m sorry.”  
  
  
“For what?”  
  
  
“Everything.”  
  
  
“That’s not an apology. That’s paying lip service to your own guilt.”  
  
  
“I’m trying, Lester.”  
  
  
“It’s been twenty-one years,” he said coolly. “You can try harder.”  
  
  
“It’s been four,” his father said. “Your mother and I supported you for seventeen years before you chose to leave – ”  
  
  
“You think that’s what happened?” Lester asked. “You’ve ignored me since Maxwell’s diagnosis and avoided me since my letter from Hogwarts. You didn’t even see me off on the train in my first year, you just put me on a bus to London with a bag of sandwiches. You never asked about my classes or how I was doing or even whether I had any friends. The one time you showed any interest in my magic was when you wanted to take advantage of it.”  
  
  
“Your brother was missing.”  
  
  
“He was where I told you he’d be,” Lester said coldly. “You didn’t bother telling the carer to look for him there, you just sent me off. Even though I told you it was illegal and beyond my skill level.”  
  
  
“You managed fine. It was seven years ago.”  
  
  
“I was  _arrested_.”  
  
  
“You didn’t tell us that.”  
  
  
“Why the fuck would I think you’d  _care?_  I was dragged into the Ministry of Magic by four Law Enforcement officers who were talking about expelling me and breaking my wand in half. I was in shock and passed out from hyperventilation, but at least they healed the grievous injury I sustained from doing that kind of magic before I was ready. The only reason I got off was because my best friend’s mum was head of Magical Law Enforcement and she fired everyone involved. And you’re right, it was  _seven years ago,_  and I still get panic attacks.”  
  
  
Simon was silent.  
  
  
“I just need you to understand,” Lester continued, his voice and hands shaking (because when was the last time he’d had to relive, in detail, what happened that afternoon?) “How you failed me.”  
  
  
There was nothing else to be said. His father seemed to be struggling with words that would never be spoken, until finally, “Why did you come here? Why today?”  
  
  
“My fiancee told me I keep too much bottled up. I thought I should fix that.”  
  
  
“You’re getting married?”  
  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
  
Simon exhaled slowly. “Is there any way we can move past this? Start over?”  
  
  
“You tell me.”  
  
  
“Are you free on Saturday? We could get coffee, or you could come over – ”  
  
  
“I’ve got a wedding on Saturday.”  
  
  
“Not  _yours?_ ”  
  
  
“No,” he said, and tried not to notice how his father’s face went from stricken to relieved, “My best mate’s. I can’t really miss it, I’m in charge of the rings.”  
  
  
“Who’s your best mate?”  
  
  
“His name’s Scorpius Malfoy. He was in my house at school.”  
  
  
“You two go back a while?”  
  
  
“Since first year, yeah.”  
  
  
“What about his partner, do you get along with them?”  
  
  
“Yeah, he’s actually my fiancee’s brother. And my doctor. I kind of have to.”  
  
  
“I’m sorry,” his father said suddenly. “I should know this stuff. I should have asked a long time ago.”  
  
  
“You’re asking now.” And he shouldn’t be letting him off the hook – it was too little, too late – but just talking about his friends had somehow thawed the icy bitterness in his heart.  
  
  
“What about who you’re marrying? Tell me about them.”  
  
  
(The use of gender-neutral terms wasn’t lost on him, and in the back of his mind was an image of Rose fist-pumping the air and shouting  _in your face, heteronormativity!_ )  
  
  
“Her name’s Lily Potter, we’ve been together since ’23 and she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”  
  
  
“I’d like to meet her.”  
  
  
“I think she’d like that.”  
  
  
“Do you still have a mobile?”  
  
  
Lester pulled it out of his pocket, bringing up his number. “Yeah. This is me. I keep it off most of the time, but I check my messages once a day.”  
  
  
“I’ll be in touch.”  
  
  
“All right.” He stepped towards the door, turning when he came face to face with his father. There was a brief pause, before Simon extended a hand.  
  
  
“It was nice to see you again,” he said at length, and Lester could hear the thousand unspoken words that hovered in the air between them as they shook hands.  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
It was Albus who answered the door – Albus, who was without a doubt the person Lester had been dreading facing the most. They were mates – good mates, but there were fine lines between his friend Albus, his Healer Albus and his fiancee’s brother Albus, and the latter was terrifying.  
  
  
“She’s gone to the shops with Scorpius,” Albus said to a spot just above Lester’s shoulder, and turned without inviting him in properly. “She should be back in ten.”  
  
  
“Right.”  
  
  
“Close the door behind you, you’re letting the heat out.”  
  
  
“Right,” he said again, fidgeting. “What did she tell you?”  
  
  
“Not much,” Albus said briefly. “Just that you were being you.”  
  
  
“I do that a fair bit.”  
  
  
“Don’t make a joke out of this. She showed up here at one o’clock this morning, crying.”  
  
  
“I don’t need to be reminded.”  
  
  
“I was expecting you round earlier.”  
  
  
“I went to see my dad.”  
  
  
“You went to –  _what?_ ”  
  
  
“I’ll explain later.”  
  
  
Lily’s-Brother Albus was gone, replaced with the midpoint between Healer Albus and Friend Albus. “Is everything okay?”  
  
  
“Nobody’s dying. Nobody’s gravely ill or injured, or in crisis,” he added, ticking things off his fingers, “And Lily needs to hear it first.”  
  
  
“Jesus, what did she  _say_ to you?”  
  
  
“That’s between her and me.”  
  
  
The door opened, Lily and Scorpius bustling in laden with shopping bags and chatting animately. Everything fell silent when they spotted him standing in the kitchen.  
  
  
“We’re just – gonna – ” Scorpius began, gesturing wildly to the door.  
  
  
“Go for a walk,” Albus finished hastily, and Scorpius dumped his bags in the doorway and pulled Albus back out with him before the latter had time to grab a coat.  
  
  
“So,” Lily said at length.  
  
  
“I saw Dad today.”  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“I saw Dad today,” he repeated. “I thought about what you said, and that you’re right and I should – you know – talk about things more, so I went and saw Dad and…let him have it.”  
  
  
“You told him how you’ve been feeling?”  
  
  
He nodded.  
  
  
“And you talked about everything that happened when you were still living at home?”  
  
  
He nodded again.  
  
  
“And why you left?”  
  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
  
“How did he react?”  
  
  
“With silence, mostly. Then he asked about you.”  
  
  
“He knows about me?”  
  
  
“I mentioned you. He wants to meet you.”  
  
  
“Oh.” She didn’t say anything else.  
  
  
“Please don’t, I’ve had enough awkward silences to last a lifetime and getting them all in one day is too much.”  
  
  
“You really saw him, then.”  
  
  
“He’s invited us over for dinner.”  
  
  
“When?”  
  
  
“Whenever.”  
  
  
“You talked to him about everything.”  
  
  
“I nearly cried in his office.”  
  
  
“I’m proud of you.”  
  
  
“Will you come home?” He was too fragile, too exhausted from everything that had happened to stop his voice cracking on the final words, and could hardly bear to look at her in case he saw anything but agreement on her face.  
  
  
“Yeah,” she said softly, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him. “Yeah, of course I will.”


	14. xiv. november twentieth [or] until death do us part

It was November nineteenth, and Scorpius was hiding.  
  
  
Malfoy Manor, luckily, had an abundance of places to hide (and he knew them all, after countless games of hide and seek that he’d forced Teddy to play with him despite the fact that Teddy was a teenager by then and too old to want to play hide and seek) and he was down in one of the cellars behind a dusty rack of elf-made wine hoping his relatives wouldn’t notice he was missing.  
  
  
(Considering he was the reason they had gathered, this seemed unlikely).  
  
  
He’d never considered his family as a particularly big one – especially considering he was about to marry into the Weasley-Potter clan – but gathered in the dining room were his parents, the grandparents Malfoy and Greengrass, his aunt Daphne and her partner, his great-aunt Andromeda and Teddy, who had answered the well-meaning “Where’s Victoire?” with monosyllabic grunts and dismissive hand-waving. Scorpius wanted to ask, but he also wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear about the troubles of the only married couple he knew in his generation on the eve of his own wedding.  
  
  
Teddy, as it turned out, didn’t give him a choice.  
  
  
“You hiding too?”  
  
  
“Yeah.” Scorpius shuffled over to free up some space on the shelf he was sitting on. “What’s up?”  
  
  
“I’m genderqueer.”  
  
  
“Oh,” Scorpius said. “Who else knows?”  
  
  
“Vic. Rose. Soon the entire population of Hogwarts.”  
  
  
“Has this got anything to do with why Vic isn’t here?”  
  
  
“We’re…going our separate ways.”  
  
  
“Divorce?” Scorpius blanched. He was enough of a Classicist at heart to pay entirely too much attention to auspices, fate, the messages of gods that probably didn’t exist but what if they did, and this was…not a good one.  
  
  
“Probably. I think she’s waiting for me to come crawling back, tell her I’ll be a man again. I’ll tell her I fucked her cousin, that might clear things up for her.”  
  
  
Scorpius stared. “You  _didn’t_.”  
  
  
Teddy didn’t look at him.  
  
  
“Jesus, Ted.”  
  
  
“I’m not proud of it.”  
  
  
“Which cousin?” he asked, though he had a horrible feeling he knew the answer.  
  
  
“Rose.”  
  
  
They were silent for a while. “You fucked up,” Scorpius said eventually.  
  
  
“Tell me something I didn’t already know.”  
  
  
“I mean, as far as fuck-ups go, that was  _colossal_.”  
  
  
“I know.”  
  
  
“I thought you needed to hear it.”  
  
  
“Cheers for that.”  
  
  
“D’you want us to use different pronouns?” Scorpius asked after a long while – the product, he had to admit, of asking himself _what would Rose do_ (followed by wondering why, exactly, he still viewed Rose as a role model). He was involved in the bare minimum of queer activism, purely because it was expected of him – self-serving enough to do his fair share in MagiQ’s anti-discrimination campaign, but piss-poor at anything to do with awareness and visibility. (Spending his seventh year as one half of Hogwarts’ only openly gay couple meant he’d had quite enough of being visible, thank you very much).  
  
  
“They and them, if you could.”  
  
  
“Sure. I’ll tell Albus.” And then it dawned on him that the next time he’d be seeing Albus would be at the altar, and he put his head between his knees.  
  
  
“You all right there?”  
  
  
“’M getting married tomorrow.”  
  
  
“Yeah, you are.”  
  
  
“ _Help_.”  
  
  
“I could always talk about my wedding,” Teddy offered. “But considering you know how it all ended – ”  
  
  
“You’re a  _bad omen_ , Teddy Lupin.”  
  
  
“I found my new pronouns.”  
  
  
Scorpius sat up. “That doesn’t even  _remotely_ work – ”  
  
  
“I knew that’d get you.”  
  
  
“I’m linguistically offended.”  
  
  
“Cry me a river,” Teddy said. “I’m gonna go get your dad, you look a bit green.”  
  
  
“It’s just the light.”  
  
  
“Let me show you what your face looks like,” Teddy offered, and his –  _their_ , Scorpius reminded himself –  _their_ hair turned a pale, sickly shade of green.  
  
  
“Fuck off,” Scorpius said.  
  
  
“Pleasure as always, Scorpius,” Teddy said, and ruffled his hair before walking away.  
  
  
As promised, a duly summoned Draco descended the stairs a few moments later. “You look a bit green.”  
  
  
“I know.”  
  
  
“Nervous?”  
  
  
“It’s kinda like,” Scorpius began, “A thousand Christmas Eves rolled in with a thousand night-before-NEWT-Ancient-Runes.”  
  
  
“Well,” Draco said, “You’re going to get a lot of gifts. You’re probably not going to have to sit an exam.”  
  
  
“ _Probably_ ,” Scorpius repeated.  
  
  
“I threw up three times the morning I married your mother,” Draco continued matter-of-factly. “You inherited my constitution.”  
  
  
“Thanks for the genes, Dad.”  
  
  
“You’re welcome, son.”  
   
  
They lapsed into a not-uncomfortable silence.  
  
“They didn’t want me marrying her,” Draco said, jerking his head in the vague direction of the dining room. “The Greengrasses were never in our  _circles_. My father sat through the entire ceremony, stiff-lipped and silent. He only offered his congratulations on parchment.”  
  
  
“Do you think old age has made them soft?” Scorpius asked. “Or have they just given up?”  
  
  
“I don’t think it’s either. I think I told them that they didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of restoring honour to the Malfoy name and neither did I, but that you’ve made it something that means intelligence, compassion, loyalty and leadership – the kind of man the Malfoys have always relied on lurking in the shadows of, and the kind of man any family would be proud to have as their future. And actually – maybe I should give you your wedding present now.”  
  
  
Startled by this abrupt change of subject, Scorpius just nodded.  
  
  
Draco fished inside the pocket of his robes, pulling out a stamp. “Do you recognise this?”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Scorpius said, confused. “It’s the family crest.”  
  
  
“It’s a legally binding symbol,” Draco continued. “I’m sure you’ve seen the others around the house – the old pureblood families can use the family crest in place of a signature for anything they do. it’s more symbolic than functional these days, but it’s still common practice in the Wizengamot.”  
  
  
“Right,” Scorpius said.  
  
  
“You have the legal right to use the crest however you like from now on,” Draco said. “But there’s something else. You know the motto.”  
  
  
“ _Sanctimonia vincet semper_ ,” Scorpius recited. “Purity conquers all.”  
  
  
“The motto of the Malfoy family for eight hundred years,” Draco nodded. “I want you to change it.”  
  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“You’re a Latinist. That’s my gift to you.” Draco looked suddenly uncertain. “When you told me in your seventh year that it was time for it to die out – I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I know you’re not taking his name, so I wanted to give you the chance to be proud of your own. The Registry office at the Ministry has been informed, as has Gringotts. Bring your new motto to them and they’ll make it official.”  
  
  
“ _Pro cognatione et dignitate_ ,” Scorpius said, surprising himself with his certainty. “For the sake of family and excellence.” And then, because the lump in his throat was only getting bigger, “I’m probably going to cry. Fair warning.”  
  
  
Draco cleared his throat noisily, and his sombre grey eyes were glistening. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
People began converging upon Malfoy Manor early the next morning, and Scorpius himself was dragged out by nine o’clock by his mother to supervise the decoration of the ballroom (for the reception) and the garden (for the ceremony). It was chilly, a halfhearted frost coating the lawn, and Astoria was directing a group of workmen arranging chairs and putting up the arbour.  
  
  
“Do I really need to be here?” Scorpius asked eventually, because he could barely feel his toes and had no idea what he was supposed to be supervising.  
  
  
“I wanted to make sure you’re happy with the arrangement.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Scorpius said. “Yeah, it looks fine. Don’t suppose Lester’s around yet?”  
  
  
“Oh, he Apparated in twenty minutes ago. He’s in the dining room having breakfast.”  
  
  
“The Potters didn’t feed him?”  
  
  
“Oh,” Astoria said. “I suppose they would have. Well, he’s in there having tea, then.”  
  
  
He wasn’t sure if the prospect of best friend or breakfast was more appealing, but at any rate both were better than hovering awkwardly in the cold. “You know where to find me,” he said, and fled for the house.  
  
  
“There he is,” Lester said when he entered, standing and clapping him on the back. “How’re you feeling?”  
  
  
“Do I look ill?”  
  
  
Lester scrutinised him. “No more than usual. Where are you going for your honeymoon? You could do with some sun.”  
  
  
“Italy.”  
  
  
“Of course.”  
  
  
“Did you see Albus this morning?”  
  
  
“I caught a glimpse of him. Looks about as calm as you.”  
  
  
“Well, at least I’m in good company.” Scorpius sighed. “Pass the toast?”  
  
  
The ceremony wasn’t until two o’clock, and the hours leading up to it seemed destined to be the longest of Scorpius’s life. He milled around anxiously, making small talk with relatives and getting in everyone’s way, until after lunch Lester steered him upstairs to get ready.  
  
  
His dress robes were the same ones his father had gotten married in – deep, dark forest green brocade, as Malfoy as they came. That, he decided, was a good omen – his parents were still married –  
  
  
“Lester, do you think I’m too superstitious?”  
  
  
“Depends what made you ask that question.”  
  
  
“Just in general.”  
  
  
“Then yes. You’re ridiculous.”  
  
  
“Lester?”  
  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
  
“Have you thought about a best man for your wedding?”  
  
  
“I haven’t thought about it because it was always going to be you. But let’s take this one wedding at a time, yeah?”  
  
  
“I’m just…” Scorpius paused. “Glad you’re here, that’s all.”  
  
  
“How many people have you gotten sentimental with – what are you  _doing_?” Lester crossed the room quickly. “Don’t tell me you went twenty-two years as a pureblood not knowing how to tie a bow tie.”  
  
  
“In my defence, Mum usually did them for me.”  
  
  
“Chin up.”  
  
  
“I’m fine – ”  
  
  
“No, I mean literally. Move your  _face_.”  
  
  
He did. “What’s the time?”  
  
  
“You’ve got half an hour.”  
  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
  
“You’ll be fine,” Lester said. “All you need to do is stand in a garden and tell Albus how much you love him.”  
  
  
“That sounds like a scene from a Jane Austen novel.”  
  
  
“I’m pretty sure  _you_ could be from a Jane Austen novel. Maybe less magical and gay.”  
  
  
“But I  _like_ being magical and gay.”  
  
  
Lester stepped over to the mirror, fishing a comb from his pocket. “I know you do. You’re walking down the aisle first, right? When do you want to head downstairs?”  
  
  
“Not for a while. Lily’s going to come get us when the Potters are here.” He felt ill with nerves, and reached for a glass of water on his bedside table. “Got the rings?”  
  
  
“Of course I’ve got the rings, I’m best man.”  
  
  
The party – Scorpius didn’t feel right calling it a  _bridal_ party, considering the lack of bride – consisted of Lester as best man, Rose as best woman (a title apparently bestowed upon her by Albus nearly four years previously) and James and Lily as groomspeople. They had both wanted Holly involved, but she insisted on being behind the camera for the whole ceremony and that green wasn’t her colour anyway.  
  
  
“Just checking,” Scorpius said, and watched the hands of his watch drag ever slowly towards two o’clock.  
  
  
There was a sharp knock on the door, and Lily poked her head round the corner. “You boys are good to go. Scorp, you clean up nicely.”  
  
  
“Thanks,” Scorpius said, and with his heart in his throat he headed downstairs, flanked by Lester and Lily, and out into the garden, and he was only vaguely aware of the hush that descended and the hundreds of eyes upon him as he made his way down the aisle to the rose-covered arbour and waited, facing Logan, who gave him a reassuring thumbs up.  
  
  
“Where is he?” Scorpius murmured, and Lester twisted around.  
  
  
“Heading up the aisle now,” he reported in an undertone. “Now he’s halfway – James’s shoelace is undone…nearly here…I’ll stop with the commentary now, here he is.”  
  
  
Scorpius turned, and he knew Albus’s face better than he knew his own, had seen him hundreds of thousands of times in every possible light from every possible angle, but it suddenly felt like he was seeing him anew, and he heard the sharp intake of his own breath.  
  
  
“ _Queerly_ beloved,” Logan began (out the corner of his eye, Scorpius could see Rose fist pumping) “We are gathered today to witness the marriage of Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy and Albus Severus Potter. In deference to their superior skill with language, I will keep my comments short. Should anyone present have any objection to this couple joining together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”  
  
  
Silence.  
  
  
“I believe you have prepared your own vows,” Logan said, and Scorpius swallowed hard, took Albus’s hands in his own, and hoped his words didn’t fail him on the day they mattered the most.  
  
  
“Albus Potter,” he began. “I have always believed in the power of language. I have always believed that anything under the sun can be expressed in words, and that if English didn’t have the right ones then Latin would, or Greek, or French. But my love for you eclipses anything I can put into words. You defy description across eight languages – and believe me, I’ve tried them all, but I’m going to try anyway.”  
  
  
He took a deep breath, and Albus murmured, “You’re going to put me to  _shame_.”  
  
  
“You have defined what love is. Since we were fourteen, you were the answer to every question I ever had. What does love look like? It looks like you. What does love feel like? Every moment I look at you, every time I touch you or hold you. How long does love last? As long as there is breath in your body and life in your soul, and even after that -  _εἰ δὲ θανόντων περ καταλήθοντ᾽ εἰν Ἀΐδαο αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ κεῖθι φίλου μεμνήσομ᾽ ἑταίρου_. And I know I said I’d write my vows in English, but in fairness I didn’t write that, I just quoted it, and you know exactly what it says.”  
  
  
Albus nodded.  
  
  
“I know that I’m not perfect,” he continued. “I’ve made mistakes and I’ve hurt you, and I’ve put you through more than anyone should have to deal with. You’ve stood by my side for eight years – my pillar of strength, my anchor, my guiding light. And even if I spent the rest of our lives together thanking you for that, it will never be enough. But I promise to be everything that you have ever been for me, to love you unconditionally and unequivocally, to put you first in everything I do, and to be the man you deserve, from now until time immemorial.”  
  
  
They had drifted closer, incrementally, without realising; Scorpius’s world had shrunk until it was just them left in it. He watched Albus swallow, raise his eyes up to meet Scorpius’s, and take a deep breath.  
  
  
“I decided I was going to marry you when I was seventeen. I don’t even know what prompted it, exactly, but we were all in the common room and I was watching you, and I know I’ve joked about this before but you could be in the same room as Adonis himself and still be the most beautiful man there. And I told Rose that I would ask you to marry me, someday, and then my next thought was  _oh fuck, I’ll have to write my vows._  So everything that comes out of my mouth for the next couple of minutes is the result of four years’ trying to put everything I feel for you into words.”  
  
  
God, he hadn’t even  _started_ and Scorpius was going to cry.  
  
  
“I love you,” Albus continued. “I can’t even imagine a time when I didn’t. Even on the day we met, on the train in first year like the cliches we are, I knew you were someone special. You were dorky and awkward and had everything to prove, and I was the same. You’ve been my best friend for ten years, my partner for eight, my fiance for three – from the very beginning, you’ve been the one, and the only thing that’s changed is that I’ve gotten better at defining who you are to me. I can’t describe how happy I am that from today, I can finally call you my husband.”  
  
  
His voice seemed to waver, only for a moment, before continuing. “I know we haven’t had the smoothest sailing, and I know a lot of that is because of me. I’m quick to anger and slow to forgive, but you make me a better man every day that I’m with you. You keep me grounded, you keep me accountable, and you make me realise everything I’m capable of. You inspire me to be everything you see in me, and you don’t give up until I’ve seen it too. You are the best thing to ever happen to me, and I promise to spend the rest of our lives together doing the same for you. I will love you without condition, support you without hesitation, respect you without exception and walk through life by your side, until death do us part.”  
  
  
Lester handed them the rings – Logan was saying something about the symbolism of them, but Scorpius didn’t hear a word except when Logan was telling him to put the ring on Albus’s finger –  
  
  
“Repeat after me,  _with this ring, I thee wed_.”  
  
  
“With this ring, I thee wed,” Scorpius murmured, and then Albus was sliding a ring onto his finger and repeating the same words, and his breath caught in his throat because this was  _it_ –  
  
  
“By the power given to me by the British Ministry of Magic, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss.”  
  
  
It was the most perfect kiss of his life – better than their first in the bathroom of the second year boys’ dorm, or their second on Valentines Day of third year in the Ravenclaw common room, or Potions in seventh year with the Howlers shrieking in the background, or the thousands of kisses they had shared that were momentous for no other reason than the fact it was  _them_ and they needed nothing else to mark the occasion – but  _this_ – he was kissing his  _husband_.  
  
  
They broke apart, beaming, and Scorpius thought the sun had never shone brighter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> εἰ δὲ θανόντων περ καταλήθοντ᾽ εἰν Ἀΐδαο αὐτὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ κεῖθι φίλου μεμνήσομ᾽ ἑταίρου - 'even in Hades where the dead utterly forget everything, even there I will still remember my beloved companion' is taken from Homer's Iliad, 22.389-90, where Achilles speaks of his love for Patroclus. Translation mine.


	15. xv. the domino effect [or] love is in the air

Albus and Scorpius had been married for a full twenty minutes and Holly hadn’t hugged them. It was a  _travesty_.  
  
  
As the guests filtered slowly into the Malfoys’ ballroom, Holly thrust her camera into Brodie’s arms and ran full-tilt towards the happy couple, flinging her arms around them with a squeal. “You’re  _married_ I can’t  _believe_ it  _congratulations I’m so happy for you you’re married!”_  
  
  
“We know,” Scorpius said mildly, returning her embrace.  
  
  
“Yeah, we were there,” Albus added, though he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. “How’s the photography going?”  
  
  
“I’ve got some really good shots,” she said confidently. “And the  _kiss_ , the lighting was perfect and the angle and everything – ”  
  
  
“The kiss was definitely perfect,” Scorpius said, and pulled Albus towards him to close the few inches of space that had opened up between them since they’d been talking.  
  
  
“Oh, I dunno about  _perfect_ ,” Albus said. “We still need something to work towards, don’t we? Anyway,” he said firmly, “I believe you owe us an introduction, Holly Holyoake.” He nodded towards Brodie, who was still clutching her camera and looking a bit lost. “I take it that’s your young man?”  
  
  
“I wouldn’t call him  _young_ , babe,” Scorpius said, looking serious. “Our Holly’s got herself an  _older_ man.”  
  
  
“He’s only twenty-eight,” she said, blushing.  
  
  
“Seven years!”  
  
  
“Lucky number,” Albus said solemnly.  
  
  
“He’s just turned twenty-eight,” Holly said. “So it’s more like six. Brodie, come over here a moment.” She waved him over. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Brodie Hall.”  
  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Albus said firmly, shaking his hand. “I’m Albus, and this is my husband Scorpius – ”  
  
  
“I think he knows,” Scorpius said, also shaking Brodie’s hand.  
  
  
“I know, I just wanted to call you _my husband_.”  
  
  
“Mmm,” Scorpius agreed. “Are there any other plus-ones floating around? I want to try that line.”  
  
  
“I don’t think we’ve met Molly’s new boyfriend,” Albus said, peering through the crowd. “Ah! There he is. Holly, I hate to love you and leave you – ”  
  
  
“But we’ll be back,” Scorpius added. “You’re both sitting at our table for dinner. Prime spots. Great-aunt at two o’clock, Albus – run.”  
  
  
They fled into the crowd hand in hand, and Holly turned to relieve Brodie of her camera. “So – that’s Albus and Scorpius.”  
  
  
“Scorpius is the linguist, right?” Brodie asked, watching where they’d disappeared. “I figured, with that  _Iliad_ quote in his vows – ”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Holly said. “Well, they both know a fair few languages but Scorpius is the more obsessed one.” She paused. “Are you two going to talk about dead languages the whole time?”  
  
  
“Oh, if he lets me I’ll talk his ear off. I haven’t talked to another Runes scholar since my training course, and that was a  _long_ time ago.”  
  
  
“We’re going to be here all night – ooh, there’s Lester and Lily!” She took his hand and towed him behind her, artfully dodging clusters of unknown relatives before skidding to a halt in front of her aforementioned friends.  
  
  
“Holly!” Lily cried happily, wrapping her in a hug. “It’s been ages, you look  _amazing_ – ”  
  
  
“It’s great to see you again, Holly,” Lester added, waiting his turn to hug her. “How are things at Hogwarts?”  
  
  
“Great, fantastic – oh, this is my boyfriend Brodie, by the way – Brodie, this is Lily and Lester – ”  
  
  
“You’re looking after her, I hope?” Lily asked sternly.  
  
  
“Well,” Brodie said, “She tends to look after herself, so – ”  
  
  
“Congratulations,” she interrupted. “You passed the test. You teach at Hogwarts, right? What subject?”  
  
  
“Ancient Runes. I’m also Head of Hufflepuff – ”  
  
  
“Ancient Runes?” Lester repeated. “Stay away from Scorpius, he’ll trap you in conversation for hours.”  
  
  
“That is in no way a problem for me.”  
  
  
“Head of Hufflepuff?” Lester continued. “Sorry, I think I cut you off. Is it your first year at Hogwarts?”  
  
  
Apparently deciding that the men had enough conversation topics to be going on with, Lily seized Holly by the arm and steered her to a quiet spot along the far wall, snagging a couple of glasses of champagne as she went. “Right. We need to  _catch up._  Last Albus told me, you have big news but I should wait till you told me in person, and now you’re here with a boyfriend?”  
  
  
“He’s not even the big news.”  
  
  
“He’s not? Damn, girl, what have you been up to?”  
  
  
“Well,” Holly said, marvelling at how she still got a thrill from the words three months later, “I’m Head of Ravenclaw.”  
  
  
“You’re what? Oh my God, how did that happen?”  
  
  
“It was a bit of a fluke really,” she admitted. “A whole bunch of staff retired at once last year, including Babbling, and Professor Corner had too many family commitments to take over, so…it went to me.”  
  
  
“What’s it like?”  
  
  
“It’s…you know, scary. I’ve had Vector guiding me through it, and I’m in and out of her office like, every time I finish with a discipline issue to make sure I’ve handled it right. And I never realised the extent of the guidance role…when we were all at school, we had each other and we didn’t really need the teachers’ involvement in anything, but – it’s sobering, you know, seeing what these kids are having to deal with without the support networks they should have.”  
  
  
“I bet you have heaps of plans to fix that though.”  
  
  
“Well, yeah. I’ve spoken to Vector about putting a greater focus on pastoral care in future years – starting with the heads of house, but I think we also need a guidance counsellor and better professional development because it’s not like I really prepared for this role and I know I’m not the only one who feels a bit out of their depth dealing with some of this stuff.” Holly stopped herself before she could get too carried away. “How are you going?”  
  
  
“Eh.” Lily shrugged noncommittally. “We moved in with Freddie and it’s weird not having a house to ourselves, but it’s cheaper than our place in Glasgow so I can’t really complain. The Harpies demoted me to reserve, so I think I’m going to quit.”  
  
  
“You’re quitting? What will you do?”  
  
  
Lily shrugged again. “I’ve got a job bartending at the Two-Feathered Phoenix and I can probably go full-time there until I work it out. I’m working out my options though – I have a stack of brochures for training courses that’s probably as tall as me.”  
  
  
“Any good ones so far?”  
  
  
“I’m thinking of doing law.”  
  
  
“Oh,” was all Holly could think to say.  
  
  
“I know I’m probably not anyone’s first pick for a lawyer, but – ”  
  
  
“No, no,” Holly said hurriedly. “I just don’t know many people who have gone into it.”  
  
  
“Neither. But that’s kind of the appeal, you know? Obviously Hermione’s in the Wizengamot, and isn’t Mr Malfoy as well? But nobody’s actually become a  _defence_  lawyer, so I won’t be following in anyone’s footsteps. And I know how the Wizengamot works, so I can exploit it.”  
  
  
“I forget you’re a Slytherin sometimes.”  
  
  
“So do I,” Lily said blithely. “Then I remember I have marketable skills outside of flying a broomstick, and the world seems a little bit brighter.”  
  
  
“Employers should be tripping over their own feet to offer you jobs.”  
  
  
“They kinda do,” Lily said thoughtfully. “The Phoenix offered me a managerial position within two weeks, but I was still with the Harpies and the hours didn’t work. Wish I’d known then that they’d drop me for Layla Thomsett.”  
  
  
Holly frowned. “I’ve heard that name.”  
  
  
“She’s the top Seeker in the league,” Lily said. “I’m not really surprised that they dropped me for her, but I’m still pissed.”  
  
  
“I don’t blame you.”  
  
  
“I’ve missed you,” Lily said suddenly. “Like, really missed you. I miss everyone, except Al and Scorpius because we see them all the time, but I wasted  _so much time_  hating you and I don’t know why.”  
  
  
“If I knew me in Hogwarts I’d probably hate me too,” Holly said. “I was really…” She trailed off.  
  
  
“Tense,” Lily suggested. “Volatile. A tiny powder keg of rage.”  
  
  
“Those are all good descriptions,” Holly agreed. “But I’ve missed you too. You should come up to Hogsmeade sometime when you’re free, we have some amazing cafes.”  
  
  
“Cafes?” Lily repeated. “Isn’t there just Puddifoot’s and the bars?”  
  
  
“Nah. There’s a whole area of town surrounded by an Age Line to give the teachers and locals a break from students. My favourite’s called the Hogwarts Espresso.”  
  
  
“The Hogwarts Espresso? That’s amazing. I’m going to go just for the pun.”  
  
  
“Good coffee too. It’s a win-win.”  
  
  
“I’ll owl you and come up sometime – Tuesday nights maybe? We can make it a weekly thing.”  
  
  
“Sounds perfect!”  
  
  
“Awesome.” Lily turned to scan the crowd. “We should go rescue the menfolk because they’re looking  _awkward as fuck._ ”  
  
  
The menfolk in question now seemed to holding a stitled conversation with Lysander Scamander, and Holly returned just to hear Lester ask, “So…how are those…magical creatures?”  
  
  
“We’re going to go catch up with James and Julia,” Lily announced, and towed Lester off. A few moments later, Teddy and Rose had drifted over and conversation turned to Hogwarts. The first issue of  _Draco Dormiens_  with input from Queer Hogwarts had gone out the previous night, and Holly realised every teacher at the wedding had been on its list of queer staff (with the exception of Professor Longbottom, who – a fact Holly forgot more often than she remembered – was Albus’s godfather, and who was currently going about the serious business of forgetting the school existed in the midst of a loud, noisy cluster of parents, aunts and uncles).  
  
  
“I’m glad I was off-site when it came out,” Teddy said. “I’ve only told three people so far directly, and one of them was my now ex-wife.”  
  
  
“You and Victoire are officially over, then?” Rose asked. There was an odd look on her face that Holly couldn’t quite define.  
  
  
“I think so.”  
  
  
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Holly said. So this was what Teddy had been so upset about that night in Hogsmeade.  
  
  
“Thanks,” Teddy said. “But, you know. It’s for the best.”  
  
  
“Who knows about you and Vic?” Rose continued.  
  
  
“No one. I wouldn’t be able to show my face here if they did – never mind the fact that she’s clearly in the wrong – ”  
  
  
“I think the kids took _Draco Dormiens_  pretty well,” Brodie said, slightly louder than was necessary. “We saw a few reading it over breakfast this morning, didn’t we, Holly?”  
  
  
“I saw that too,” Lysander agreed. “I had one student say he didn’t know I was gay, and when I said I was he made an appointment to talk to me tomorrow morning. The visibility thing’s definitely working.”  
  
  
“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Rose asked Teddy in an undertone. Holly gave her a questioning look, which she ignored as they disappeared.  
  
  
“What’s up with them?” Lysander asked, frowning.  
  
  
“No idea.”  
  
  
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. “There’s my sister,” Lysander announced, and fled to join Charlotte and Roxanne by the punch.  
  
  
“Love a wedding,” Brodie said. “Let’s get drunk.”  
  


* * *

  
  
As it turned out, Brodie was a complimentary sort of drunk. By the end of dinner, he and Scorpius had ranted for fifteen minutes at each other about dead languages before spending another ten telling each other how they should be best friends and how great the other was, while Albus and Holly rolled their eyes at each other from across the table. (They were not much more sober than their respective partners, so they were a lot less subtle than they imagined they were being).  
  
  
Then the music started, and Scorpius groaned.  
  
  
“Babe,” he said, poking Albus in the side. “Babe, we have to dance.”  
  
  
“Who planned this wedding?” Albus asked. “I have had _too much champagne._ ”  
“You’ve had less than me.”  
  
  
“Your tolerance is higher.” Albus frowned. “I didn’t do twenty-one shots at my twenty-first. I did eighteen and passed out.”  
  
  
“I know. I was looking after you.”  
  
  
“You’re my favourite Healer.”  
  
  
“I’m your favourite everything. You have to come dance, everyone’s watching us.”  
  
  
“Go on without me,” Albus said dramatically.  
  
  
“Nah. You’re bound to me now.” He pulled Albus to his feet and onto the dance floor, where they both did an excellent job of appearing sober.  
  
  
When dozens of other couples started joining them, Brodie turned to Holly and raised his eyebrows.  
  
  
“No way,” she said firmly. “I’ve got two left feet and they’re both sore from wearing heels all day.”  
  
  
“Take your shoes off. I can lead.”  
  
  
“Where did you learn to dance?”  
  
  
Brodie laughed. “I taught at  _Beauxbatons_.”  
  
  
“I heard they have a ball every year.”  
  
  
“Compulsory staff attendance,” Brodie nodded. “Come on. Dance with me.”  
  
  
She’d had just enough wine for this to sound like a good idea, and managed to last three songs of giggling, stumbling attempts at grace before slumping into Brodie’s arms at the next music change. “I’m done, I’m done.”  
  
  
“Fair enough,” Brodie said, and scooped her up.  
  
  
“Oh my god! What are you  _doing_?”  
  
  
“Carrying you,” he said matter-of-factly, making his way back to their table. “You said your feet were sore. And you’re tiny.”  
  
  
He deposited her, still giggling, into her seat. “We should probably sober up before we go back to school. I’ll grab some water.”  
  
  
It took her a moment to realise that Rose was still sitting down, and, devoid of her usual sensitivity filter, she leaned forward. “Are you okay? You must be lonely, being single around so many couples.”  
  
  
Rose frowned. “Huh? Why would I be  _lonely_? Albus and Scorpius just got  _married_ and everyone’s here and drunk and dancing – or attempting to? I’m not sure what you were doing.”  
  
  
“I was just kind of – ” she flailed a bit – “Boogeying. You sure you’re okay?”  
  
  
“Are you kidding? This is the best night of my life. My mother is  _intoxicated_.”  
  
  
Holly followed Rose’s gaze to the cluster of adults (proper adults, because none of their own generation counted) to see Hermione Granger, hair coming loose from its bun, delivering a loud, impassioned and vaguely incoherent speech before knocking a wine glass over in a dramatic gesture.  
  
  
“Do you reckon she’s drunk enough to hit the dance floor?” Rose continued thoughtfully. “I reckon she is. I’m gonna go  _dance_ with my  _mum_. Watch my shoes.” She shed her heels, tossing them in Holly’s vague direction, before bounding across the ballroom in her stockings.  
  
  
The reception continued until past midnight, the music circling from love songs to the cringe-worthy hits of their childhood and adolescence – Albus and Scorpius led the guests in a rousing rendition of  _Floo Me Maybe_  (Brodie knew all the words) followed by  _What Does the Sphinx Say_ (Scorpius, being Scorpius, added the Sphinx’s question from the legend of Oedipus in Aeolic Greek to raucous applause). Finally, as the clock crept towards one in the morning, Scorpius took to a table, cast  _sonorous_ on himself, and announced, “Friends, family, general loved ones – thank you all so much for coming and celebrating with us – but if you don’t mind, it’s time for us to continue this celebration in private.”  
  
  
“Upstairs,” Albus added, joining him on the table. “Having  _lots_ of sex.”  
  
  
“You can all go home now,” Scorpius concluded. “Have a good night, everyone!”  
  
  
Brodie was quick to offer the use of his office Floo to the other Hogwarts staff, and Holly just managed to catch the boys and wish them a happy honeymoon before they made themselves scarce. Finally, when they were back in Brodie’s quarters and the rest of the staff had dispersed, she flopped into bed and stared contentedly at the ceiling.  
  
  
“Did you have a good time?”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Brodie said, kicking off his shoes. “Your friends are great. I haven’t had that much fun at a wedding in ages.”  
  
  
“Have you been to many weddings?”  
  
  
“I’m twenty-eight,” he reminded her. “All my best mates from Hogwarts are already married. Last one I went to people were telling me ‘Always the groomsman, never the groom.’”  
  
  
“Rude.”  
  
  
“Now my grandmother’s telling me the same thing. I don’t even know how she knows I’ve ever been a groomsman, she lives in Shanghai and I’m terrible at writing.”  
  
  
“You don’t write to your grandmother?  _Brodie Hall._ ”  
  
  
“She doesn’t know any English and my Mandarin is terrible,” Brodie said defensively. “Mum never lets me hear the end of it, that I have a reading fluency in three dead languages but can’t talk to half my family.”  
  
  
“Did you just never learn it?”  
  
  
“Mum taught me the basics, but I was never that interested. It didn’t seem relevant, growing up in England with an English dad and only hearing Mandarin every second Christmas. I regret it now, but I just don’t have the time to learn it properly.”  
  
  
“Maybe some day you will,” Holly suggested.  
  
  
“Maybe some day,” Brodie echoed. “I’d like to take a sabbatical at some point and go to China, if Hogwarts gives me the time off – they’ve got some amazing methods of teaching Classical Chinese, and I’ve got at least five cousins who have offered me a bed for as long as I need it.”  
  
  
“I’ve never even thought of sabbaticals.” Holly frowned. “I just thought I’d missed my chance to live overseas for any amount of time.”  
  
  
Brodie rolled onto his side and faced her, chin propped up with one hand. “Where would you go?”  
  
  
“I don’t know. I want to go everywhere. I’ve never left the UK.”  
  
  
“You haven’t?”  
  
  
“We never went overseas for family holidays. And I didn’t have the time or the money to go independently after Hogwarts.”  
  
  
Brodie was silent for a while. Then, “Let me take you somewhere.”  
  
  
“Like where?”  
  
  
“I don’t know. Somewhere. Throw a dart at a world map and see where it lands. We can go over summer, after the students leave.”  
  
  
“Really?”  
  
  
“Really. You’re not stuck in Hogsmeade forever, you know.”  
  
  
“I’d like that. A lot.”  
  


* * *

  
  
The next morning, Holly woke to the sound of knocking on Brodie’s office door. He was already up, and through the crack in the door between bedroom and office she heard voices.  
  
  
“What can I do for you this morning, Emma?”  
  
  
“This is gonna sound weird – but – um – is my sister here…?”  
  
  
Brodie coughed. “Hold on a moment.”  
  
  
He poked his head round the door. “Emma’s here to see you.”  
  
  
“I heard.” She kicked herself free of the blankets (Brodie had had to put an  _Engorgio_  charm on them so she had enough to burrito herself during the night while not letting him freeze) and shuffled into the office. Brodie hovered in the corner with the profound awkwardness of a man who was just realising he was Head of House for his girlfriend’s sister, and after a brief moment of silence he quietly excused himself for breakfast in the Great Hall.  
  
  
“You know,” Emma said conversationally, “There are a lot of rumours about you two.”  
  
  
“I thought there would be.”  
  
  
“I hope you know I’m now honour-bound to confirm them.”  
  
  
Holly sighed. “Is that what you came here for?”  
  
  
“Oh my God, no. I knocked on your door first and Professor Whatshisname who teaches DADA – ”  
  
  
“Hillcrest?”  
  
  
“Hillcrest, yeah, he suggested I might find you here. Anyway, that’s not important. We got a letter from Mum and Dad.”  
“Mum  _and_ Dad?”  
  
  
“Yeah.” Emma pulled out an envelope, pointing to the sender details. “ _Matthew Holyoake and Penelope Clearwater.”_  
  
  
Holly stared at her sister.  
  
  
“You don’t think – ”  
  
  
“I think this is it.”  
  
  
“You haven’t opened it yet?”  
  
  
“It’s addressed to  _both_ of us, that wouldn’t be fair.” Emma pulled her wand from her pocket. “ _Diffindo_.”  
  
  
Inside was a small card of cream-coloured parchment and a letter.  
  
  
“ _Matthew Holyoake and Penelope Clearwater invite you to celebrate with them at the occasion of their (second) wedding_ ,” Emma read.  
  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
  
“Twenty-fourth of December, 2027,” Emma continued. “I can’t believe it. It’s happening.”  
  
  
Holly scanned the letter. “We’re Mum’s bridesmaids – ”  
  
  
“Of course we are.”  
  
  
“And there’s this bit – ”  
  
  
“Read it.”  
  
  
 _“We chose December 24 because we couldn’t let you girls go another Christmas without being a family.”_  
  
  
“Rude,” Emma said, voice thick. “They knew that’d make us cry.”  
  
  
“We’re spending Christmas as a family,” Holly said. “For the first time in eleven years – ” She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence, and pulled Emma into a hug instead.


	16. xvi. nuclear fallout [or] don't sound the all-clear

The news that Holly’s parents were getting (re)married over Christmas was the best Rose had heard in a long time.  
  
  
“I’m really sorry,” Holly was saying. “I hate to ask – I mean, it’s  _Christmas_ , you should be with your family – ”  
  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Rose said hastily. “Really. I’m fine to step in as Head of House as long as you’re back within a week to relieve me of my burden of responsibility.”  
  
  
“I’m back on the twenty-eighth,” Holly assured her. “So you could maybe have a late Christmas with your family – ”  
  
  
“Noooo.”  
  
  
“Is everything okay?”  
  
  
“Well,” Rose began, not sure how much she was planning to admit, “Not really.”  
  
  
Her conversation with Teddy had achieved nothing – she had thought keeping what happened between them quiet would be the obvious way to go, but Teddy was hell-bent on showing Victoire in no uncertain terms that their marriage was over, and must have told her at some point during the wedding because Victoire herself had cornered her in a bathroom about half an hour before they left. The words  _dirty slut_  and  _homewrecker_ were used.  
  
  
She didn’t know how much the rest of the family knew – she hadn’t had any concerned owls from her mother, who was usually in the centre of the Weasley family grapevine, nor any Howlers from Fleur, but the idea of spending Christmas in the same room as Victoire held no appeal whatsoever.  
  
  
Holly was still waiting for her to elaborate, so she focused firmly on the top of her bookshelf and said, “So I slept with Teddy.”  
  
  
“ _Rose_.”  
  
  
“I know.”  
  
  
“Does Victoire know?”  
  
  
“Seems that way,” Rose said mildly.  
  
  
The ensuing silence told her Holly was wrestling against her gut reaction. “So,” she said at length, “Do you need help coming up with excuses for the next forty Christmases?”  
  
  
“Yeah, we can start brainstorming around August each year. I can probably get a bit more mileage out of standing in for you, so you can spend the next five Christmases at home.”  
  
  
“And by that point you might have a partner and you can spend Christmas with them,” Holly continued. “And what about your maternal grandparents? You’re probably overdue to spend one with them.”  
  
  
“Last time I saw them was…2016, I think?”  
  
  
“ _Rose_ ,” Holly scolded. “Visit your grandparents.”  
  
  
“I’m following Mum’s lead,” Rose protested. “I’m not opening that can of worms if I can help it. Apparently your relationship with your parents goes south pretty quickly if you wipe their memories without their consent and send them to Australia. Who knew? Apparently not my mother.”  
  
  
“That relationship wasn’t the only thing that went south, then.”  
  
  
“That was  _terrible_.”  
  
  
“I think you mean  _terrific_.” Holly grinned. “And look, you’re smiling again.”  
  
  
“You’re a dork.”  
  
  
“I’m your dork. Well,” Holly amended, “One of your dorks. You have a lot of dorks.”  
  
  
“We have joint ownership of three of them.”  
  
  
“I miss our Hogwarts days,” Holly said suddenly. “Life was simpler back then, you know? I wasn’t responsible for the wellbeing of four hundred teenagers. You weren’t a homewrecker.”  
  
  
“In my defence, the home was already wrecked.”  
  
  
“An important distinction.” Holly paused. “Are you holding up okay?”  
  
  
“I’ll be fine,” she said bracingly. “I’ve got a stack of tests to get through before tomorrow, though, so you should join me in the staffroom for a marking party.”  
  
  
“I’m always down for a marking party,” Holly said, and trotted off in the direction of her office. “See you there,” she called over her shoulder.  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
There were a lot of things Rose did well. She had no issue with glorying in her skills and achievements – she’d had an ego since she could first understand adults gushing to her mother about ‘ _how clever your daughter is!’_  – but above everything else, she was a  _champion_ at avoiding awkward situations with people she maybe shouldn’t have slept with.  
  
  
So, when she saw Teddy sitting at the staffroom table surrounded by lesson plans and Transfiguration textbooks, she deposited her own shit quite cheerfully in the space beside them and said, “Hey, I’m making a cuppa if you want one?”  
  
  
“That’d be great, yeah.”  
  
  
She got up and put the kettle on, pottering with mugs and milk and sugar and making small talk with Jess Macaulay while she waited for the water to boil. She and Professor May had famously blown up at each other a few days ago – something about him undermining her authority in the classroom – and both were now skulking around the castle avoiding the other. According to popular opinion among the staff, Professor Vector was about ready to smack their heads together.  
  
  
“I’m glad he’s ignoring me,” Jess was saying. “It means he knows I had a point but can’t bring himself to admit it.”  
  
  
Listening to her, Rose took a moment to thank Merlin himself that she’d always gotten along well with Herbert before returning to the marking table with the tea. Jess followed in her wake, still muttering, and sat down just as Holly arrived.  
  
  
It reminded her of the old days in the Ravenclaw common room, as the staff drifted in with piles of lesson plans and assignments and worked in companionable silence. She’d been here just over three months, but the staffroom had become her favourite place in that short amount of time – she couldn’t name a single colleague she didn’t get along with (except maybe Eliza Lattimore, but nobody got along with her – the only conversation Rose had with her revealed that she had a PhD in history from a Muggle university and thought she was above everyone) and for the first time since she had began specialising in Potions, she was constantly learning new things about other branches of magic – most of the staff couldn’t resist the opportunity to talk at length about their field.  
  
  
Despite this cameraderie and friendliness, however, she still had a bone with Teddy, and she waited until they were heading back to their rooms later that evening to pick it.  
  
  
“What are your plans over Christmas?”  
  
  
“Dunno,” Teddy shrugged. “I think I’m spending it with Nana and the Malfoys, they’ve been on at me for a while to spend another Christmas with them. What about you?”  
  
  
“Staying here,” she said, unable to resist the passive-aggressive route now it was open to her. “I can’t really spend it with my family, seeing how  _someone_ told their wife I slept with them.”  
  
  
“Don’t try and claim the moral high ground here.”  
  
  
“Why not? It takes two to tango, and I explicitly asked you not to tell Victoire about it. She cornered me in the bathroom at the wedding, calling me a slut.”  
  
  
“Yeah, that sounds like her.”  
  
  
“You knew how she would react, but you told her anyway?”  
  
  
“I’m done discussing this.” Teddy’s tone was curt, dismissive. “If you’re quite finished – ”  
  
  
“You don’t give a fuck, do you?” Rose reached out, pulled Teddy around to face her. “You just want to burn all your bridges in one big inferno. Go ahead, get shitty with me and sulk in your office, I don’t care anymore.”  
  
  
“You think I’m  _sulking_?”  
  
  
“Yeah, I do.”  
  
  
“I’m getting  _divorced_ – ”  
  
  
“Which I’m sure came out of the blue for you,” Rose interrupted. “ _International Flooing’s a bitch_ , no it’s not. You’ve been on the rocks for months and you used me as the final nail in the coffin.”  
  
  
Teddy was silent.  
  
  
“At least admit it,” Rose said, surprising herself with the coldness of her voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be a Gryffindor?”  
  
  
“You were a willing enough nail,” Teddy said eventually.  
  
  
Rose walked away.  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
It was the first Christmas Rose had spent without her family, and although she certainly wasn't the only member of the Weasley-Potter clan to not make it to Nana Molly's Christmas dinner (Albus and Scorpius were spending the day with the Malfoys; Lester and Lily with the Raines; the Delacour-Weasleys in Paris with Louis; James with Julia and her family in New Zealand) she was the only one to be doing it alone, and the closer the festive season crept, the more she regretted agreeing to stand in for Holly.  
  
  
The only thing that made her feel better was that she  _was_ doing this for Holly, because although she normally didn't give a rat's arse about how she measured up to other people's standards of morality, it had been a long time since she'd genuinely felt like a  _good_ person. She spent two days walking through Diagon Alley buying Christmas presents, got coffee with her mother, began winding down her class material to give the students a break, and retreated into her office to work on a submission for the Ministry regarding sex ed at Hogwarts. This last one she did with almost evangelical zeal - after Jade's visit to her office several weeks ago, she'd been approached by a half a dozen other girls also wanting the contraceptive potion, and she had no doubt the number would increase.  
  
Holly and Lily, with typical festive enthusiasm, started planning an early group Christmas dinner for December eighteenth, a few days before the students went home for the holidays. Albus and Scorpius were hosting, and Scorpius was so proud of the turkey he had scored at the New Quarter markets two days earlier that he Floo'd Holly's office to brag about it.  
  
"Also," he added as an afterthought, head sitting in the fireplace and swivelling to address both Holly and Rose, "How do you roast a turkey?"  
  
"Why are you asking  _us_ _?_ "  
  
"Well, I've already asked everyone else. Not even my mum knows."  
  
Rose opened her mouth to mock him, before realising she didn't have the slightest idea how to roast a turkey either. "I feel like this is probably something we should have learnt before we all turned twenty-one."  
  
"I'm twenty-two," Scorpius pointed out, and frowned. "That...doesn't make it any better."  
  
"Ask Molly Weasley," Holly suggested.  
  
"You mean Nana Molly, right?" Scorpius asked. "Not Hippie Molly?"  
  
"N'aww," Rose said fondly. "You call her Nana Molly as well."  
  
"Well, I'm part of your family now - "  
  
"God, you are too."  
  
“So I have a grandmother-in-law to Floo,” Scorpius said. “See you ladies the day after tomorrow.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Considering they had been friends for ten years, it was amazing that this was the first Christmas dinner they had put on together, albeit a week before Christmas itself. Albus and Scorpius were busy in the kitchen from the moment Rose and Holly arrived, earning them plenty of jokes about their domesticity.  
  
“Well, we  _are_ married,” Albus pointed out, passing a glass of bubbles to Rose and pouring another for himself. “It’s about time we put on magnificent dinner parties for our nearest and dearest.”  
  
“We’re all so old,” Holly said, wrinkling her nose. “I bet by next year I’ll be bringing Brodie along.”  
  
“ _Next year_  Lester and Lily are hosting,” Scorpius said. “I’ve had nightmares about fucking up that turkey since I bought it.”  
  
“I wouldn’t trust Lily in a kitchen,” Albus said immediately. “She burns toast. Their first week living together, Lester had to permanently  _silencio_ their smoke alarm.”  
  
“Not sure I’d trust Lester either,” Rose added. “He got a bit  _experimental_ when he was flatting with us.”  
  
“And Rose and I are at Hogwarts,” Holly concluded. “So you’re stuck with Christmas dinner, boys.”  
  
“How do they feed themselves?” Albus asked suddenly. “Lily and Lester, I mean.”  
  
“Mostly with sandwiches,” Scorpius replied. “And Lester’s got toast and coffee down to an art.”  
  
“When are they getting here?”  
  
“Whenever they bestir themselves,” Albus said, glancing at the clock. “It’s only ten thirty. Amazing. Remember when Lester used to be an early riser, Scorp? What happened?”  
  
“Your sister, I’m pretty sure.”  
  
“Hmm,” Albus said noncommittally. “Should we make this an annual thing, d’you reckon? I understand you have reason to avoid Victoire for the rest of our natural lives, Rosie.”  
  
“How do  _you_ know about that?”  
  
“Scorpius told me. And Teddy told Scorpius.”  
  
“Apparently Teddy’s telling everyone.”  
  
“I’m going to go ahead and assume you didn’t want that happening.”  
  
“Oh, no, I love everyone in the family talking about how I’m a slut and a homewrecker. It’s a great time. Highly recommended.”  
  
“Are they? I haven’t heard anything.”  
  
“I think that’s the reason Bill and Fleur are going to Paris this year. When have the family ever gone to visit  _Louis?_ ”  
  
“If that’s the reason, they’re not telling anyone else. They’ve kind of made themselves into pariahs, you know – first Louis, then Victoire leaving Teddy because of the genderqueer thing. That’s the only version of the story I’ve heard. I don’t think they’d dare call you a homewrecker.”  
  
“I suppose,” Rose said dubiously.  
  
Holly had drifted into the kitchen to help Scorpius with the roast, and Albus collapsed into the sofa beside Rose. “But yeah, been meaning to ask. You and Teddy. How did it happen?”  
  
“Firstly, there’s no  _me and Teddy_. It was just sex.”  
  
“It always is with you,” Albus said, and her hackles rose.  
  
“What do you mean by that?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“No, you don’t. If you’re going to call me a slut, I’d rather you did it directly.”  
  
Albus looked hurt. “Why would I – I’m not –  _Rose_.”  
  
There was no closing the floodgates now she’d opened them. “You’ve always been self-righteous with me – actually, you’re pretty self-righteous with everyone when it comes to sex and quite frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t already tried to stage an intervention or some shit – ”  
  
“I’m demisexual,” Albus said, cutting her off. “I didn’t realise it was even a thing until a few years ago, I just assumed that was how everyone was and I couldn’t comprehend how you were sleeping with random people or how Scorpius – anyway, I know differently now and – ”  
  
“Oh,” Rose said. “That’s why it upset you so much, when Scorpius was – ”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Because you thought he must have had feelings for – ”  
  
“I’d rather not dwell on it,” Albus said firmly. “I just wanted to say that, you know, I wasn’t trying to be a shitty person. I just didn’t understand that people can have attraction without connection.”  
  
“Right,” Rose said, already regretting her outburst. “Well, yeah. I can see that now.”  
  
“Speaking of that sort of thing,” Albus continued, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while, and I really hope you don’t take it the wrong way.”  
  
“I’ll try not to. No promises.”  
  
“Are you aromantic?”  
  
“Um.” Rose floundered. “I haven’t really – not that I know of – I’ve never – ” She paused. “Why do you ask?”  
  
Albus shrugged. “You’ve just never seemed romantically interested in anyone. Even in sixth year, with Charlotte – I dunno, you seemed more interested in the concept of dating than you actually were in her. And your thing with Alfie had all the hallmarks of a relationship except you were always genuinely confused by the idea.”  
  
“Oh,” was all Rose could say.  
  
“You look like I’ve just dropped a bomb on your head.”  
  
“You kind of have.”  
  
“Need a moment?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m gonna go help,” he said, jerking his head in the vague direction of the kitchen and patting her shoulder. “Let me know if you need me.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
She didn’t mention it again, but felt more acutely aware of the couples surrounding her – Albus and Scorpius, Lester and Lily, even Holly, who had come alone but who had Brodie waiting for her back at the castle. She was the only single one of the group, and she tried to work out if she cared.  
  
 _You must be lonely, surrounded by so many couples_. That line of Holly’s came back, like it often did, because it confused her so much at the time – why would she be lonely, surrounded by her friends on the happiest day of Albus and Scorpius’s lives?  _Should_ she feel lonely? Was she just enjoying being young and single (like she’d always thought) or was she aromantic?  
  
It was one of those words, though, that had seeped into her consciousness and stuck fast, even over the course of two hours, and the more she attempted to reject it the firmer it held.  _Aromantic_. It made sense, rang with an unavoidable truth and settled under her skin like it belonged. She wondered what it would taste like on her lips.  
  
“So I’m aromantic,” she announced during a lull in conversation, and Albus beamed at her and raised his glass, and Holly crowed, “I knew it!”  
  
“You knew?” Rose asked, turning to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“I thought it was probably something you should work out for yourself,” Holly said earnestly amid gales of laughter. “It took you longer than I expected.”  
  
“It would have taken me a lot longer if it wasn’t for Albus.”  
  
Albus inclined his head. “Always happy to be of service.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Christmas and New Years passed uneventfully, with a skeletal staff staying on over the holidays and a handful of students who seemed content to stay in their common rooms or have snowball fights in the grounds. Rose’s parents had owled her gifts, as well as the customary jumper from her nana, and she sat in her office for longer than she cared to admit reading over their card and wishing she was with them before heading to the staffroom to put an end to her wallowing.  
  
The skeletal staff over Christmas consisted of Herbert, Neville (who was acting Head of Gryffindor while Professor Thomas spent time with his family) Brodie, Professor Vector and Hannah, who was enjoying an empty hospital wing and a nip of brandy with her husband. All five were ensconced beside the fire when she arrived, and scrambled to pull up a chair for her.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Rose!”  
  
“Merry Christmas,” she returned, smiling as Herbert pushed a mug of mulled wine into her hand. “Is this what Christmas at Hogwarts is all about?”  
  
“Seasonal booze? Yes,” Hannah said. “Well, after dinner’s over anyway.”  
  
“We deliberately stuff the students so full they can’t cause trouble,” Professor Vector added. “I think they’re all lying around in their common rooms groaning.”  
  
“Did you ever spend a Christmas here, Rose?” Herbert asked.  
  
“I did in fifth year, yeah. But that was – ”  
  
“Not ’21, was it?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“James Potter and Freddie Weasley,” Herbert concluded. “Yes, well. They were the exception to the rule. It’s usually a lot – quieter around here.”  
  
“Have you spent every Christmas here since you started as Head of Slytherin?”  
  
“Yep. That was in 2002 – so – Merlin’s arse, that’s twenty-five years.” Herbert grimaced and reached for the brandy. “Are any of the newbies Slytherins? I’m about ready to pass on that torch.”  
  
“I think Asher is?” Rose offered.  
  
Herbert frowned. “I suppose he’ll do, in a pinch. It’s a shame you weren’t a Slytherin, Rose, you’re the only one I’d really trust with it – ”  
  
“I was almost a Slytherin,” Rose said. “Not quite a Hatstall, but there was a decent conversation between me and the Hat.”  
  
“And you chose Ravenclaw,” Vector concluded. “As well you should.”  
  
“I did,” Rose agreed.  
  
“Hufflepuff is still the best house,” Brodie interjected. “Just so we’re clear.”  
  
“ _Yeah_ _!_ ” Hannah said enthusiastically, high fiving him. “Badgers for life!”  
  
As the afternoon wore into evening, Rose was astounded by the sheer volumes of alcohol the staff managed to pull out of nowhere. All five (Vector was staying sober) were several tankards of mulled wine down when Brodie suddenly sat up, looking startled.  
  
“Is there a rule about staff dating?” he asked, and Rose sniggered.  
  
“I assume this is about you and Holly?” Vector asked.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“There’s no rule,” Vector continued. “Though I expect you both to use discretion and not allow yourselves to become student gossip.”  
  
“Right, yeah, ’course. Not a problem.”  
  
“Incidentally,” Vector continued, “What would you do if there was a rule against it? I assume you would end the relationship?”  
  
“Are you kidding?” Brodie asked. “I’d resign. In a heartbeat. For Holly, yeah.”  
  
Rose gaped at him.  
  
“Don’t tell her I said that,” he said hastily, eyes widening. “Uh. You didn’t hear anything.”  
  
“There’s no need for that,” Vector said, apparently startled by how eager her staff was to abandon her, “Just be careful.”  
  
“Young love,” Herbert said reminiscently, and raised a mug of mulled wine to Brodie. “May the school not suck the life from your souls.”  
  
“Thanks,” Brodie said dubiously, and drank to it.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Not quite three weeks after term started again for the New Year, Teddy approached her.  
  
“I’m sorry,” they said, after an awkward moment hovering in her doorway. “I shouldn’t have said – well, a lot of things.”  
  
“No,” she agreed. “You shouldn’t have.”  
  
They fidgeted. “Truce?”  
  
“Sure.” Rose paused, glancing at the calendar above her. “Hey – Lucy’s got a job interview in Hogsmeade tomorrow, there’s a few of us going down to the Three Broomsticks for Faculty Friday anyway but I thought we could help her either celebrate or drown her sorrows. D’you wanna come with?”  
  
“Who else is going?”  
  
“Holly and Sean.”  
  
“Yeah, all right.” Teddy smiled. “Sounds like fun. What’s the job she’s going for?”  
  
“It’s at the Printing Press, that’s all I know. I’m meeting her for coffee beforehand.”  
  
“Didn’t you two used to hate each other?”  
  
“Yeah,” Rose said reminiscently. “Fuck knows why, she’s awesome.”  
  
“What time are you heading down?”  
  
“Around five, I reckon.”  
  
“I’ll see you then,” Teddy nodded, and Rose smiled as they left. Hopefully, things would start getting back to normal.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When she returned from Hogsmeade the next evening, slightly buzzed from celebratory drinks (Lucy had gotten the job) there was a note stuck to her door. Puzzled, she pulled it down and unfolded it.  
  
 _Rose,_  
  
 _Please meet me in my office when you receive this. If it is after midnight, see me first thing in the morning._  
  
 _Septima Vector_  
  
It was just before eleven, and with her heart thundering she shoved the note into the pocket of her robes and hurried to the Headmistress’s office. A wave of nausea washed over her as she knocked on the door.  
  
“Come in,” Vector called. There was no trace of warmth in her voice, or on her face when Rose entered.  
  
“I got your note,” Rose said, hating how tremulous her voice sounded.  
  
“Sit down, Rose.”  
  
It took her a moment to realise Herbert was there too, staring pointedly at the wall.  
  
“I received word tonight that you’ve been supplying underage girls with the contraceptive potion,” Vector said quietly. “Is that true?”  
  
 _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck_. “Yes.”  
  
“You’re aware that the age of consent in all areas under the jurisdiction of the British Ministry of Magic is seventeen.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And it is currently illegal to supply the contraceptive potion to anyone under seventeen.”  
  
Rose took a deep breath and unclenched her fists; her nails were digging into her palms so hard they were beginning to draw blood. “Yes.”  
  
“You are also aware,” Professor Vector continued, “That the only staff licensed to dispense any kind of medical potions at Hogwarts School are Hannah Longbottom and Herbert Llodewick.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Herbert spoke then, still not looking at her. “I will be taking over your classes, effective from Monday. Drop off your lesson plans, assessment to date and any other material to my office over the weekend.”  
  
“What?” Rose asked weakly.  
  
“I don’t think I need to impress upon you the seriousness of what you’ve done,” Vector said. “We will be in contact with the Ministry and the Potions Guild to discuss your future. For now, however, you are suspended, pending further investigation.”


	17. xvii. let's do science [or] what's in a name

It was twenty-five minutes to midnight, and there was a knock on the door.  
  
“Who the hell is that?” Lily asked, frowning as she swung her feet out of bed and nudged them into slippers.  
  
“Dunno,” Lester said, grabbing his wand from the bedside table and moving cautiously towards the door. There was another knock, more urgent this time, and he opened it to find Rose standing on the doorway.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
She shook her head, crossing the threshold and collapsing into his arms, face buried in his chest.  
  
“What happened?” he asked urgently, terrible visions flashing through his head – something must have happened to her family, or Holly, or Albus and Scorpius –  
  
She pulled away, and he was startled to see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the reddened puffiness of her eyes. “Jesus, Rose, what’s going on?”  
  
“I’ve been suspended,” she managed, voice strangled, and the immediate relief he felt that none of their friends were injured or dying was replaced within moments by shock.  
  
“Suspended?” he repeated. “What? How? Why?”  
  
She shook her head, face crumpling, and he wrapped her in his arms again.  
  
“Put the kettle on?” he suggested to Lily, who was hovering beside them looking worried.  
  
She nodded, disappearing into the kitchen, and Lester managed to steer Rose onto the sofa.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know where else to go – Scorpius is on shift work and I had to get out – ”  
  
“It’s fine,” Lester assured her. “You can stay here tonight if you want.”  
  
“I have to go back tomorrow,” she said in a small voice. “I have to pick up my stuff, and give Herbert all my lesson plans – ” She dissolved into fresh tears at this, and it took Lester a moment to remember who Herbert was – Professor Llodewick, of course – and he rubbed her back and felt thoroughly out of his depth.  
  
Lily returned with the tea, pushing it firmly into Rose’s hands and draping a blanket over her. “Right. Tell me what happened.”  
  
Lester shuffled over gratefully to make room for her, and she slipped one arm around his waist and the other over Rose’s shoulders. “That’s the rule if you crash here,” Lily continued. “Talk. And drink your tea, I brewed it with  _love_.”  
  
“You are your mother’s daughter,” Rose said accusingly, but she drank her tea and drained the cup before speaking again. “I was brewing contraceptive potion for some of my students.”  
  
“Oh, Rose.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“What happens now?”  
  
Rose shook her head, went to drink more tea and realised the cup was empty. Lester hurriedly went to fill it again.  
  
During the course of forty-five minutes, Lily managed to extract from Rose that she was suspended pending further investigation and the school would be talking to both the Ministry and the Potions Guild, and until then her future was uncertain. She’d booked it from the school as soon as she could, not even returning to her room for a toothbrush or pair of pajamas, and hadn’t told Holly what happened either.  
  
“I’ll go with you to Hogwarts tomorrow,” Lily offered. “So you can grab your stuff and let Holly know you’re not dead.”  
  
“I don’t know where to go,” Rose said in a small voice. “I don’t want to get in your way and – ”  
  
“There’s always your parents?” Lester suggested.  
  
“I can’t tell my parents!” Rose wailed, and burst into tears again.  
  
Lily gave him a pointed look. “Go to bed, babe.”  
  
He didn’t need to be told twice.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Lily and Rose were gone when he got up the next morning. It was a Saturday, but that hadn’t stopped Alex’s owl from knocking on the kitchen window at an ungodly hour, telling him to come down to the warehouse. They were on the verge of a breakthrough with the magical interference and they all knew it – he knew he was probably the only person who even went home last night, and he picked up coffee on his way.  
  
“Thank God,” Ella said when she spotted him and the coffee.  
  
“For me, or the caffeine?”  
  
“Both,” Alex said firmly, relieving him of the coffee and doling it out. “We need a fresh pair of eyes, Thomas and I came in at five – ”  
  
“In the  _morning_ _?_ ”  
  
“Yeah,” Alex said, as if there was nothing unusual about this, “And Aidan and Ella pulled an all-nighter.”  
  
“Where is Aidan?”  
  
“Napping.”  
  
“That’s fair.” He made his way to the table. “What did I miss?”  
  
“We’ve figured out how we’re going to activate a Magical mode,” Ella said eagerly. “It’s not exactly seamless – I don’t think it’s going to be possible to just have an option, like Flight mode or something, but we’re working on a SIM card and an alternative battery that can be charged at wandpoint.”  
  
“So what am I working on?”  
  
“I figured the battery would be your forte,” Alex said.  
  
“Sounds perfect.” Lester pulled out his phone, removed the battery and duplicated it. “Got any notes for me to work from, or am I winging it?”  
  
“We’ve got a few notes,” Ella said, sliding a notebook over to him. “It’s just some basic power analysis we did last night, but it should give you a starting point.”  
  
“Cheers.”  
  
He worked throughout the day, experimenting with the battery – different casings, different fillings, different spells and different ways of binding them. It was fiddly, precise and complex magic, more exhausting than he realised, but he was oblivious to everything else until Thomas tapped him firmly on the shoulder.  
  
“Time out, mate,” he said, and passed him a cup of tea. “You’ve been at that for six hours.”  
  
“Six hours?” No wonder he felt slightly faint.  
  
“Couch,” Thomas ordered, and Lester shuffled off to collapse on it. “There’s a tin of shortbread down there too, help yourself.”  
  
He did, not realising until he opened the tin that he was ravenously hungry as well. There had been a constant supply of baking in the warehouse since they came back from Christmas break (it still astounded him that E3  _took_ a Christmas break, but the warehouse had been untouched for ten days and there were even  _spiders_ in the corners , which Alex swiftly took care of with a few Killing Curses. “What?” she had asked when she saw Lester staring at her. “I’m arachnophobic.” He was, apparently, the only one to have a problem with using Dark magic as insecticide). Everyone’s parents were familiar with E3’s erratic sleeping and dietary habits, and they had been sent back to their flat with enough fresh produce and home baking to last them until Easter if they rationed it. They didn’t.  
  
He took a moment to glance around the warehouse – Aidan was at the table with one wand hovering above his work casting  _lumos_ and the other pointed at what seemed to be his fingers but was actually a SIM card. Thomas had one of Ella’s textbooks open on the counter while he brewed tea without looking, and Ella herself was fast asleep on the sofa opposite.  
  
“Where’s Alex?” he asked the room in general.  
  
“Coffee run,” Aidan replied without looking up. “I’ve got her wand.”  
  
Lester frowned. “Does it work all right for you?”  
  
“Well, I’m only using it for light,” Aidan said. “But yeah, we share wands all the time. Ella and I had to engrave our initials on ours because we’d pick up each others’ wands and not realise for entire days.”  
  
“Same wood and core?”  
  
“We’re both walnut, but hers is unicorn hair and mine’s dragon heartstring. I prefer hers for the more fiddly stuff, though, like – ” he waved his hand to encompass the phone and SIM card, “This shit. Actually – she’s asleep, can you chuck it here?”  
  
Feeling like he was violating something sacred, Lester picked up Ella’s wand and passed it over.  
  
“Cheers,” Aidan said absently, and set up his own as a second lamp before lapsing into silence.  
  
Lester didn’t think he had ever felt jealous of a group of friends before – he had, after all, been part of a famously close-knit one for the duration of his Hogwarts years – but they had never shared  _wands_. (Not that he could imagine sharing wands with any of them anyway. He’d made the mistake of grabbing Lily’s wand once or twice – when he wanted to do some quick charmwork and his own was in another room – and it had zapped him. He hated laurel.) It had been a long time since he and his friends had lived and worked together, however, and it wasn’t until he was spending most of any given day with E3 that he realised how much he’d missed it.  
  
Especially working on all those godforsaken pranks in seventh year with Holly. He had been almost ruthless in his drifting away from the friends he didn’t see all the time – Albus and Scorpius were always top of his priority list, but the girls sometimes felt like acquaintances even though he’d lived with them for two years.  
  
“Would you mind if I brought in another pair of eyes?” he asked suddenly.  
  
“Who?” Aidan asked.  
  
“My friend Holly. She might enjoy the challenge.”  
  
“I assume she’s smart,” Thomas said.  
  
“She’s the Arithmancy professor at Hogwarts and Head of Ravenclaw.”  
  
“Bring her in,” Aidan said immediately. “Tell her we have biscuits.”  
  
“Where’s the nearest Floo exchange?”  
  
“ _Incendio_ ,” Thomas called, and one of the walls of the warehouse burst into flames. “Here,” he added, and tossed Lester a small tin of Floo powder. “Quick, before it spreads.”  
  
He didn’t even have time to question this method, just bounded across the warehouse and tossed the powder into the fire. “Holly Holyoake’s office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”  
  
Amazingly, it worked. Even more amazingly, Holly was in her office and didn’t look at all surprised to see him.  
  
“Are you looking for Lily? She and Rose just left.”  
  
“Oh. No. I was wondering whether you were busy, actually?”  
  
“Depends,” she said, narrowing her eyes.  
  
“Depends on what?”  
  
“What you’re asking.”  
  
“Do you want to come do science with me?”  
  
“ _Yes_.”  
  
“I haven’t even told you what the science is.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter.”  
  
“Wonderful.” Deciding Thomas had probably extinguished the warehouse fire that brought him here, Lester Floo’d into the Hogsmeade Exchange, Holly following close behind him.  
  
“I’ll have to Side-Along you – ”  
  
“Well, yeah,” Holly said, striding out into the street. “I never got my licence, remember?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Lester said. “You Splinched your boobs off.”  
  
“ _One_ boob, thank you very much.” Holly looked at him thoughtfully, and seconds later had clamped her arms around his middle and burrowed her face into his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”  
  
“I’ve missed you too,” he said. Making sure Holly knew he wasn’t just returning niceties, he added, “That’s why I came to get you, I remembered all the hours we spent doing science for those pranks.”  
  
“We need to do science more often.”  
  
“Yes.” He turned on the spot and Apparated them both to the warehouse. “Remember that magical engineering startup I was telling you about at the wedding?”  
  
“Ooh, is this it?”  
  
“This is it. We’re working on converting smartphones to magical use, and we’ve nearly got it nailed down but I’m working on the battery today and I could use a fresh pair of eyes.”  
  
“Ooh,” Holly repeated, and darted inside. “Are there  _formulae_? Hi, everyone. Lester brought me here to do science.”  
  
There was a brief flurry of introductions before Holly was given a space at the table, a cup of tea and Ella’s notes. “Is this what you’ve been working from?” she asked Lester quietly.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“There are a few errors,” she said, and without another word pulled out a pen, frowned intensely and began scribbling. Twenty minutes later she duplicated the notes, passed a copy to Lester, and took a phone out of her pocket.  
  
“You have a phone?”  
  
“Most of my family are Muggles,” she reminded him, pulling it apart and setting to work on the battery.  
  
They worked until dark, experimenting with different spells and falling into a constant pattern of casting and undoing (a spell Lester had invented a few years back, which he called ‘Ctrl Z’) before Holly said, “I think we’ve got it.”  
  
He stared at her, before taking the battery in her hand and slotting it into his phone. “Moment of truth.”  
  
He pressed the power button, and the screen lit up. “Oh my  _God_.”  
  
“Low battery,” Holly noted. “Good. We can test the charging ability as well.”  
  
She pointed her wand at his phone (Lester thought, briefly, about how much it would cost to replace if she blew it up) and the charging symbol appeared.  
  
“We did it!” he shouted, leaping to his feet and pulling Holly with him. “Guys, we  _did it_ _!_  The magical battery works!”  
  
“Oh my God!” Alex shrieked, bounding over, and within seconds they were surrounded by the rest of E3.  
  
“So it charges at wandpoint?” Ella asked.  
  
“Watch.”  
  
“We did it,” Thomas said in amazement.  
  
“Well,” Aidan corrected, “We’re halfway there. We’ve eliminated magical-electrical interference, but we still need to get the signal transmitting magically.”  
  
“Killjoy,” Alex said. “We should get this patented though. This is amazing, we’re going to make some  _serious bank_.”  
  
They took a moment to revel in the prospect of serious bank, before Holly spoke.  
  
“So I’ve left Ravenclaw essentially unsupervised for three hours – who wants to Apparate me home?”  
  
“Take a Portkey,” Thomas suggested, crumpling a discarded sheet of paper and casting a spell. “This’ll just take you to the Entrance Hall – ”  
  
“How can you get an unregistered Portkey into Hogwarts – ”  
  
“Best not to ask,” Ella advised as Thomas tossed her the paper.  
  
“That leaves in ten.”  
  
“Minutes?”  
  
“Seconds.”  
  
“Oh. Right. Well, it was lovely to meet you all – and Lester, it was great seeing you again. Keep in touch, yeah?”  
  
The paper glowed, and with a quick wave Holly was gone.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When he got home, Lily and Rose were chatting animatedly over a bottle of Riesling.  
  
“ _There_ you are,” Lily said, getting up to kiss him. “Where’ve you been? Have you eaten?”  
  
“E3, and no. Are you two going out?” he added, suddenly aware of Lily’s lipstick on his face.  
  
“Well, we were planning on taking you with us. Go, go, get changed.”  
  
He glanced down at himself, briefly taking in his Wasps-hoodie-and-rumpled-jeans look. “Where are we going?”  
  
“Just to James’s. Steak-and-chips Saturday till nine o’clock.”  
  
“Remember when you used to wear ties in the weekends?” Rose asked. “What happened to that Lester? I miss that Lester.”  
  
“That Lester had his parents’ income supporting him,” he reminded her, and thought again of the  _serious bank_  Alex had mentioned. He was going to buy so many shirts.  
  
To lighten the slightly tense mood that followed this comment, he added, “So we managed to fix magical-electronic interference today. We’re filing the patent on Monday.”  
  
“You what now?” Lily asked.  
  
“We made a battery that runs on magical energy and can be charged at wandpoint.”  
  
Her eyes widened. “Are you  _serious?_ ”  
  
“Yeah. And the others are working on a SIM card to eliminate network interference and transmit signals magically.”  
  
“Oh my God.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“That’s  _amazing!_ ”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“What does that mean for our Gringott’s vault?”  
  
“Good things. Not sure about the scale of the good things, but the words  _serious bank_  were used.”  
  
“Go change,” she said firmly, pushing him towards their bedroom. “We have to celebrate.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Rose, it turned out, was to have a meeting with Professors Vector and Llodewick Thursday week after the latter talked to the Potions Guild. She had spent the rest of the afternoon lining up couches on which to surf – she was with Lester and Lily until Tuesday, then Albus and Scorpius for a couple of days, and piecing the following week together with Lucy and Emily, Hugo’s flat and James and Julia – neatly avoiding any scenario in which she might have to tell her parents what happened.  
  
She was also well on her way to getting sloshed, and Lester couldn’t blame her.  
  
“I’m staying till it gets a bit rowdier,” she was telling Lily now. “You guys can head home if you want.”  
  
“I’ll give you my key,” Lily told her, passing it over. “Gimme a moment, I just have to talk to James.”  
  
She hopped off her stool and approached the bar, while Rose leaned in. “She’s telling James to keep an eye on me, I know how this family works.”  
  
“Are you going to be okay?”  
  
Rose picked up on the double meaning of his words. “Yeah. I’m just – you know. Focusing on a contingency plan if everything goes badly. James will give me a job – he needs someone to replace Lucy anyway, and he said he’ll train me up over the next week so I don’t have to sit around worrying. I’m going to drop by MagiQ as well, get stuck into some campaigns.”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
Lily returned then, sliding an arm under Lester’s jacket and around his waist. “Make good choices.”  
  
“Don’t wait up,” Rose returned.  
  
They headed out into the cold night, Lily tugging Lester closer to leech his body heat. “I have news as well, by the way. I just didn’t want to mention it in front of Rose because I was afraid it would make her feel worse.”  
  
“Tell me your news.”  
  
“I got accepted as a law intern for Susan Bones. The letter arrived this morning.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really really. I start on Monday.”  
  
“That’s brilliant!” He pulled her round to face him, and she smiled against his lips as he kissed her. “Congratulations!”  
  
“Thanks,” she beamed. “It’s two years until I sit the exam and qualify for the bar and the hours are ten till five Tuesday to Friday. The Phoenix is promoting me to duty manager as well.”  
  
“Really? That’s  _perfect_.”  
  
“Yeah. And I’m taking your name, too, when we get married.”  
  
“Oh.” He blinked. “I don’t expect you do – ”  
  
“And if you did, I probably wouldn’t,” she assured him. “But I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I’m going to change my name anyway – ”  
  
“You are?”  
  
“Just officially, to Lillian instead of Lily. I’ve wanted to for ages but I figured I might as well change both at the same time, you know?”  
  
“Is that because of your grandmother?”  
  
“Yeah. My name’s never really been  _mine_ – well, all of us are walking memorials but James managed to own his – literally, by turning it into a brand – and nobody who’s still alive really associates Albus’s name with an old dead headmaster – but growing up around the corner from a headstone with your name on it is really  _macabre_.”  
  
Lester gave an involuntary shiver.  
  
“Yeah,” Lily agreed. “And besides, did you really think I’d give up the chance to call myself  _Lily Raine?_  That’s poetry in three syllables. I could be the heroine of a shitty romance novel.”  
  
“I’d rather you weren’t the heroine of a shitty romance novel,” Lester said seriously. “Because I am a very unlikely hero and I don’t want to lose you to a fictional curse breaker with chiselled abs.”  
  
“I prefer my abs unchiselled,” she murmured, sliding a cold hand across the bare skin under his shirt as she kissed him.  
  
“We are in  _public_ ,” he whispered in her ear, not attempting to move. “ _Lillian_.”  
  
“Well,” she said, grinning wickedly as they pulled apart, “We’d best be getting home, then.”  
  
He couldn’t agree more.


	18. xviii. opportunity knocks [or] say your goodbyes

 The owl arrived at seven forty-three in the morning, marked Urgent, and at seven forty-four Rose was shaking Scorpius awake.  
  
“Letter,” she said unnecessarily, thrusting it into his hands.  
  
He blinked several times, attempting to clear the fuzziness from his mind, and sat up. “Who from?”  
  
“Your parents, I think.”  
  
His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch – why would his parents be sending him an Urgent owl? “Has Albus already left for work?”  
  
“Yeah, I woke up when I heard the door.”  
  
Feeling glad that Rose was here in case of bad news, he ripped open the envelope and pulled out the parchment within.  
  
 _Scorpius,_  
  
 _Grandad Lucius passed away early this morning. Please come home as soon as you can and bring Albus too. Your dad wants the family together._  
  
 _Mum_  
  
Feeling slightly numb, he passed the letter to Rose.  
  
“I’ll go get Albus,” she said. “Are you going to be all right for a bit?”  
  
He nodded.  
  
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she added, squeezing his shoulder, and left him in ringing silence.  
  
He didn’t know how to respond – surely not with this vague emptiness where there should have been grief. He had never been close to his grandfather – Lucius had always been a closed off man, his very aura that of privilege gone sour and a catalogue of sins that kept him awake at night. But Scorpius had grown up with the knowledge that after the war, when everything else within Lucius had withered and died, there were two names that kept him going – Narcissa and Draco, and when Scorpius was born his name was added to the list.  
  
If anything, that knowledge made everything worse, because Scorpius had inherited all of Draco’s bitterness towards Lucius and none of the affection, and his relationship with his grandfather was one of strained politeness and tension. He couldn’t count how many times Draco had gone into battle with Lucius on his behalf, and the thought made him vaguely uneasy.  
  
Aeneas padded into the room, sticking his head into Scorpius’s lap and thumping his tail against the carpet hopefully. Scorpius scratched him idly behind the ears, wondering if he could just take his dog and walk the streets of London until dark without having to face Malfoy Manor in mourning.  
  
The door opened, and Albus strode into the flat with Rose close on his heels.  
  
“Can you take Aeneas for his walk?” Scorpius asked eventually.  
  
“Yeah, absolutely.” Summoning Aeneas’s leash, Rose clipped it to his collar and departed with impressive haste.  
  
“Grab a key on your way out,” Albus called after her.  
  
“Got it.” She was gone, and Albus found Scorpius’s hand and laced their fingers together.  
  
“Come on,” he said gently. “Your dad needs you.”  
  
“I know.” He still didn’t want to move, but Albus was getting to his feet and Scorpius had no choice but to follow.  
  
“I told Mungo’s what happened,” Albus continued, just to break the silence. “You’ve got bereavement leave for the rest of the week and more if you need it.”  
  
“It’s just Lucius,” Scorpius said before he could stop himself, and then decided that if he couldn’t say that to anyone else he ought to be able to say it to his husband.  
  
Albus didn’t bat an eyelid. “Well, if you’re wanting time off work, anyway.”  
  
“I don’t even know what to say.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
  
 _Yes, it does._  
  
Albus Apparated them both in silence, and when Astoria opened the door she hugged both of them for slightly too long.  
  
“Draco’s in the parlour,” she told Scorpius, and as he walked away he heard Albus ask if there was anything he could do.  
  
His father was sitting silent in a leather armchair, elbows on his knees, staring with unseeing eyes at the grandfather clock on the far wall.  
  
“Dad?”  
  
“Close the door for a moment,” Draco said, after a pause.  
  
Scorpius did.  
  
“I don’t feel a damn thing,” Draco continued, no change of emotion on his face except for a slight tightening of his jaw. “Not a damn thing. What does that say about me?”  
  
Scorpius was silent, unsure what he was supposed to say to this – whether he was supposed to say anything at all, but his father looked up expectantly.  
  
“I don't know,” Scorpius said eventually. “But I don’t feel anything either.”  
  
“I never forgave him.” Slowly, Draco rolled up his sleeve, revealing the faded scars of the Mark. “Never. I used to think I understood. Why he dragged me into the war, how the Dark Lord trapped him. But then you were born and I couldn’t understand it at all, because I would die a thousand times over before I’d let that happen to you.”  
  
Scorpius stared at his shoes, trying to ignore the knot forming in his throat.  
  
“He loved us,” Draco continued. “That makes it all the more galling, doesn’t it? You can’t hate a man who loved you till his dying day.”  
  
“Watch me.”  
  
Draco stared at him.  
  
Scorpius took a deep breath, knowing that he should probably stop talking, leave the extent of his bitterness unspoken, but it was too late for that now. “He didn’t raise me, he didn’t support me, his love for me was purely theoretical. I don’t owe him shit. He chose to be a Death Eater, he agreed to every drop of blood on his hands, he was a bigot even when he stopped being outspoken about it. And he let you suffer for his mistakes and I know – I  _know_ – what the war did to you and what it did to us and to me because it took me eighteen years to accept my own last name and twenty to be proud of being your son, and that is _all his fault_. You don’t need to hate him, Dad, I can enough for the both of us."  
  
“You’re proud to be my son?” Draco asked quietly.  
  
Scorpius shifted uncomfortably. “Took me twenty years.”  
  
“I didn’t think you ever would.”  
  
The silence stretched out between them. “Well,” Scorpius said eventually, feeling his reputation as a linguist crashing down around him, “You’re my dad. So.”  
  
“Yes.” Draco’s eyes seemed to be glistening. “Oh, good. Mother will think I’m grieving.”  
  
“Yeah, where is she?”  
  
“With Aunt Andromeda. She’s coming over for lunch.” Draco cleared his throat. “We should probably keep that conversation between ourselves.”  
  
“Really? I thought my speech would be perfect for my recently widowed grandmother.”  
  
“Smartarse.”  
  
“You raised me.”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“We should go – ”  
  
“Yes.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
The funeral was as Scorpius expected – sombre and ceremonial, the service one that had been standard for pureblood funerals for centuries; Ministry officials from a bygone era filled the seats and offered their condolences, speaking at length about Lucius’s contributions to the wizarding world and sidestepping neatly around the Dark Mark. His father made a speech, and only Scorpius and his mother seemed to realise how insincere his words were.  
  
“Promise me you won’t bury me like this,” Draco murmured to Scorpius at the gravesite, and Scorpius shivered at the thought and promised.  
  
They read the will two days later, something Scorpius had forgotten about until he got the owl from his father. While Lucius and Narcissa had moved out of Malfoy Manor when Scorpius was a baby, they still owned the property, which now passed officially into his father’s hands.  
  
“To my grandson Scorpius Malfoy and his spouse...” the solicitor read slowly, peering over his glasses at Scorpius and Albus.  
  
“Nice of old Lucius to name me,” Albus murmured.  
  
“...I bequeath the sum of seventy-five thousand Galleons.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Scorpius whispered.  
  
“ _What?_ ” Albus whispered back.  
  
“That concludes the last will and testament of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy.”  
  
As the solicitor left the room with Scorpius’s parents and grandmother, Albus leaned closer. “You heard what I heard, right?”  
  
“Seventy-five large? Yeah.”  
  
“I don’t even think I can  _comprehend_ that much money.”  
  
“Neither.”  
  
“What are we going to do with it?”  
  
“That’s probably a conversation we should be having at home, in our normal voices.”  
  
“Yeah, why are we whispering?”  
  
“No idea.” Scorpius led the way out of the study, finding his parents in the entrance hall and the solicitor just leaving.  
  
“I imagine you two will have a lot to talk about,” Astoria commented.  
  
“Yeah,” Scorpius agreed. “Seventy-five thousand things.”  
  
“I’ll give you the card for our investments goblin at Gringott’s,” Draco added. “His name is Habnook, and he’s very good. He’ll run you through your options and explain them all thoroughly.”  
  
“ _Investment goblins_ ,” Albus whispered as Draco summoned the card with a quick wave of his wand.  
  
“He’s quite approachable,” Draco continued. “I know you were never fond of goblins as a child.”  
  
“Wait, you weren’t?” Albus asked.  
  
“He was terrified of them,” Draco said matter-of-factly as Scorpius glared. “Very undiplomatic about it too. _Daddy, what’s wrong with his fingers?_ Gravely offended half the staff.”  
  
“We’re done here,” Scorpius announced, and half-dragged Albus out the door.  
  
“Do you have any more embarrassing Scorpius stories?” Albus asked eagerly. “I’d love to come over sometime and hear them.”  
  
“I would be happy to oblige.”  
  
“ _Goodbye_ , Dad.” Scorpius Apparated them both home, his haste partly to stop Albus and his father bonding over his childhood shame and partly because he felt he had been smacked in the face with  _possibility_.  
  
“So I’ve got an idea,” he said the moment they were inside. “Put the kettle on?”  
  
“Are you going to leave me in suspense about the idea until we’re both sitting down with cups of tea and you’ll let yours go cold because you’re talking too much?”  
  
“You should be a Seer.” He headed into their bedroom, pulling down a box from the top of the wardrobe where it had gotten shoved in their last big cleanout and shuffling through the papers, half-filled forms, scribbles and information packs.  
  
Albus’s eyes widened when Scorpius brought out the box. “ _Oh_.”  
  
Scorpius tipped the contents of the box onto the coffee table, organising the forms and notes and pamphlets into tidy piles, before leaning back and raising one eyebrow at Albus.  
  
“The Hopping Pot Foundation,” Albus murmured.  
  
“I was thinking Syria,” Scorpius said eventually.  
  
Albus nodded. “Right. Okay. Tell me about Syria.”  
  
“Well, they’ve been embroiled in civil war for nearly two decades – ” Scorpius began, flicking through a few pages. “I’ve looked through their Ministry’s laws and unless we applied for citizenship we’re still governed by Britain’s, and therefore by the Patronus Act. There are ongoing airstrikes, but as long as we have strong enough wards on our house and the hospital we won’t be in any danger from them. I might ask for Rose’s help on those, actually, since she’s done post-Hogwarts study in Defence.”  
  
“I keep forgetting that. What did Holly do for her second subject?"  
  
Scorpius frowned. “No idea. She didn’t share classes with Rose, so it wasn’t Potions.”  
  
“Transfiguration?”  
  
“She’s shit at wandwork though.”  
  
“True,” Albus conceded. “It wasn’t Care of Magical Creatures, was it?”  
  
“Wait, I think it was.”  
  
“Yeah, it was,” Albus decided. “So what are our costs like for the Foundation?”  
  
“Well, we’ll need premises,” Scorpius began, and started scribbling. “And somewhere to live – ”  
  
“We can attach that to the hospital. Buy a relatively cheap Muggle building and put Extension Charms everywhere.”  
  
“And staff. Who’ll want to be paid.”  
  
“And have accommodation that’s also warded.”  
  
“We can talk to Mungo’s about funding,” Scorpius decided. “Set ourselves up as a non-profit as well so people can donate.”  
  
“If we buy some property here and rent it out, that’ll give us a decent income to live off.”  
  
“Hey, yeah, that’s a good idea. We can go talk to that goblin – I think we need at least twenty thousand to cover our startup costs and some wages...”  
  
He became aware that Albus was staring at him. “Can I help you?”  
  
“We’re actually doing this.”  
  
“Yeah, we are.”  
  
“We’re moving to Syria and opening a hospital.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“What happens to Aeneas?”  
  
At the sound of his name, Aeneas’s ears perked up. Scorpius watched as he stretched, yawned loudly and trotted across the room to gaze expectantly at them.  
  
“We can...take him...to Syria?”  
  
“You know we can’t.”  
  
“I know.” Scorpius shuffled forward to hug the dog, burying his face in Aeneas’s fur. “I just – don’t want to leave him behind.”  
  
“You know,” Albus began, “Lucy and Emily are moving to Hogsmeade. The place has a backyard, and Emily loves dogs.”  
  
“Does Lucy?”  
  
“She’s always been interested when I’ve talked about Aeneas.”  
  
“She might have just been being polite.”  
  
“It’s  _Lucy_.”  
  
“True,” Scorpius conceded. “I guess there’s no harm in asking them.”  
  
“He’ll be happy in Hogsmeade,” Albus said earnestly. “Remember when we walked him up and down High Street after coffee with the girls? He was thrilled. He’s never been that happy in London.”  
  
“I know,” Scorpius said again, and hugged Aeneas tighter.  
  
“Come on, get up,” Albus said, prodding him with a woolly-socked foot. “We’ll take him for a walk and keep brainstorming Hopping Pot shit, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Scorpius agreed after a moment, taking the hand Albus offered him and letting himself be pulled to his feet. “So we’ll have to learn Arabic...”


	19. xix. three words [or] sisters before misters

“I love you.”  
  
“I should hope so too.” Turning, Holly carried two cups of tea over to her bed, passing the first one over and taking a deep, appreciative sip of the other as she leaned back on her pillows.  
  
“I hope that’s not what you said in response to Brodie.”  
  
Holly sighed. It was the night before Rose’s meeting with Professors Vector and Llodewick, and her best friend had Floo’d over in crisis mode at precisely the same time Holly was facing her own crisis. Rose was now bundled in Holly’s bed, drinking Holly’s tea, and had apparently decided it was now Holly’s turn to talk about her problems.  
  
“It wasn’t,” she said instead, and drank more tea.  
  
“What  _did_ you say?” Rose pressed, apparently not getting the point.  
  
“So,” Holly said. “Your meeting tomorrow.”  
  
“I’m terrified, my future hangs in the balance, my hopes and dreams are on the line, yada yada. We’ve exhausted that avenue of conversation.”  
  
“Want to stay here tonight?”  
  
“I’m  _suspended_ – ”  
  
“No, here. In my office. I’m sure we could both do with some platonic spooning.”  
  
“I have missed the platonic spooning.” Rose frowned. “You’re not using me for your own ends, are you?”  
  
“The natural human craving for companionship and close emotional connections?”  
  
Rose shoved her. “As an excuse. ‘Oh, Brodie, I can’t talk tonight, Rose very conveniently dropped by in a state of emotional turmoil, hoes before bros. Sisters before misters. Etc.’”  
  
“Well, you  _did_ very conveniently drop by in a state of emotional turmoil.”  
  
“So that’s a yes.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Are you gonna tell me what’s on your mind or do I have to take up Legilimency?”  
  
Holly sighed. “I don’t know. Not about whether you should take up Legilimency – you definitely shouldn’t – but I don’t even know what’s on my mind. I just kind of panicked when he said it and I haven’t really stopped panicking.”  
  
“What did you say to him?”  
  
She grimaced. “He kind of panicked as well, like  _oh god I’m sorry that just slipped out_ , and I just said “no no it’s fine,” and then “I’m really tired,” and pretended to go to sleep.”  
  
“Oh, Holly.”  
  
“I ended up leaving before dawn and I’ve avoided him all day.”  
  
“You need to talk to him. He’ll understand that you can’t say it back yet – ”  
  
“I can,” Holly interrupted. “I can, and that scares me, and I wasn’t sure for a while but then once he said it I  _knew_ –”  
  
“So why are you hiding in your room with me instead of being gross and sappy with him?”  
  
“Like I said, I panicked.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I don’t know. It feels like this whole  -  _thing_ is moving really fast, you know? We haven’t even known each other for six months and we’ve been dating for a few months and he wants to take me overseas in the summer – ”  
  
“He does?”  
  
“Yeah, I told him I’ve never left Britain and he said he’s going to take me travelling, and this is the longest I’ve gone without seeing him since Christmas and it’s only been, like, twelve hours, and I’m  _happy_ and I like spending time with him but it’s moving so  _fast_. And all the couples we know went to Hogwarts together and have so much  _history_ and he’s just...brand new.”  
  
“Well...” Rose began. “He is quite a bit older than you, he’s had a lot more time to work out what he wants and then he met you and he was like ‘yeah okay she’s the one.’”  
  
“Yeah,” Holly said noncommittally, not sure why Rose’s comment had hit a nerve. “I guess that’s...I don’t know,” she said again, dragging her fingers through her hair. “I know I shouldn’t be comparing my relationship with anyone else’s but everyone else we know – they all happened really  _organically_ , you know? Like, Albus and Scorpius have been together since their third year and they moved in together after four years and now they’re married, and Lester and Lily were eyeing each other from across the Potters’ kitchen table for two consecutive summers before they made a move, and they’ve been together for ages, and whatever’s going on with Lucy and Emily has been obviously building for a while, and me and Brodie are just – ” she waved her arms hopelessly – “A whirlwind. And sometimes I wonder if...” she faltered, suddenly uneasy. “I just wonder if the reason this is happening so quickly is because he’s  _settling_.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“If he’s settling for me. If he’d given up hope of actually having a long-term asexual relationship and then along I came, ticking all his boxes, and maybe he doesn’t actually love  _me_ , he just loves the  _idea_ of me and the relationship he can have with me, and he’s twenty-eight and all his friends are married and ‘okay Holly will  _do_.’”  
  
“I get what you mean,” Rose began. “I honestly do, and I don’t want to invalidate what you’re feeling. But as your best friend and chief defender of your well-being, I can tell you that boy is completely head over heels for you.”  
  
“Says the aromantic,” Holly said after a pause.  
  
“Fair point,” Rose agreed, “But he said something to me over Christmas. Well, not to me specifically, he said it to Vector, kind of accidentally, and begged us all not to tell you. Not that I was ever going to  _listen_.”  
  
“Sisters before misters,” Holly nodded. “What did he say?”  
  
“He was asking Vector about if there are any rules about staff dating and she said no, but then asked what he would do if there were, and he said he’d leave Hogwarts. I think his exact words were ‘For Holly, in a heartbeat.’ So I really don’t think he’s settling, I think he’s fucking  _smitten_ with you.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“You should go talk to him.”  
  
“I screwed up.”  
  
“Go fix it.”  
  
“Yep.” Holly bounded out of bed and headed for the door. “I’ll lock up behind me, if someone knocks just ignore it and they’ll go away.”  
  
“You going in your pajamas?”  
  
“Yeah,” she called, already pulling the door closed behind her and hurrying through the castle. The distance from her quarters at the base of Ravenclaw Tower to Brodie’s beside the Hufflepuff common room had never been especially short, but it seemed to have grown over the past several hours. She scattered a handful of students by barking “Oi! Curfew!” in their direction, not even bothering to slow her pace as she swept past them.  
  
She knocked on Brodie’s door slightly out of breath, running through a list of everything she wanted to discuss with him and an apology for avoiding him all day, but when he answered the door with his hair sticking up in tufts like it did when he’d been running his hands through it and his reading glasses half-slid down his nose, a puzzled look on his face, all other thoughts fled from her mind.  
  
“I love you,” she blurted. “I love you and I should have told you last night and I’m sorry I didn’t – ”  
  
She cut herself off, watching as Brodie’s face went from puzzled to uncomfortable, and the way his eyes slid from her to the room behind him, and she risked a glance over his shoulder.  
  
Two third year boys were sitting in Brodie’s office, one with a black eye and one with asparagus sprouting from his ears, both staring at her.  
  
“Um,” she said.  
  
“Um,” Brodie echoed, and cleared his throat. “I’m – ah – in the middle of a disciplinary meeting right now, Professor Holyoake, if you could – ”  
  
“I’ll come back later,” she said hastily, not wanting to risk another glance at the boys to see if either were in her Arithmancy class, and fled.  
  
She didn’t have a lot of options for where to flee to, considering she was right beside the Hufflepuff common room, so she made a beeline for it and was pleased to find her sister, surrounded by a group of friends at one of the main tables by the fire.  
  
“Hi, Professor!” Emma’s best friend Alyssa Morrow said cheerfully. “Don’t suppose you can help me with the assignment?”  
  
Holly glanced down at the blank parchment in front of Alyssa. “That’s due tomorrow morning and I set it a week ago. No, I can’t help you.”  
  
“Shot  _down_ _!_ ” one of the boys at the table crowed.  
  
“Excuse you,” Emma said, “She’s my sister before she’s your Arithmancy professor. I’ve got something to tell you anyway, Hol.”  
  
They took a seat in a set of comfy armchairs by the window, vacated by a pair of second years the moment they saw them approaching.  
  
“I have a weird amount of authority in here,” Emma said conversationally, waving a thank you to the second years. “We always assume that when we get passed over for Head Prefects it’s because there’s a bias against Hufflepuff House, so as far as everyone’s concerned I’m the rightful Head Girl. And  _Draco Dormiens_  has been a Hufflepuff-run publication for the past seven years, so being its editor makes me queen of the common room.”  
  
“Yeah, how did the takeover go?”  
  
“There wasn’t really anything to take over. They hadn’t found anyone to replace Cynthia after she left, so they pretty much begged me to come on board. But anyway – what I was going to talk to you about. I’ve been talking to Charlotte Scamander – you know, she runs MagiQ – about Queer Hogwarts and I mentioned that I’m doing  _Draco Dormiens_  as well, and did you know her partner’s Roxanne Weasley? The foreign correspondent at the  _Prophet_?”  
  
“I did, yeah. I went to school with Charlotte.”  
  
“Right, yeah, course you would have. But anyway. Roxanne’s planning on starting a new magazine for young adults, non-gendered, because there’s nothing quite like it in the market at the moment. She said she’s taking inspiration from Muggle university student magazines, and it’ll have features and columns about art and music and stuff. She’s calling it  _Wix_ , and she’s going to keep an eye on what I do with  _Draco Dormiens_  for the rest of the year and maybe offer me a position with it after I finish.”  
  
“That’s amazing!”  
  
“Thanks,” Emma beamed. “I’m going to tell Mum and Dad over Easter.”  
  
“I still love being able to say _Mum and Dad_  in the same sentence.”  
  
“Right? But anyway, what brings you to our common room in your pajamas?”  
  
“Ah,” Holly began. “I went to tell Brodie something important. Well, I  _did_ tell Brodie something important, but it was while he was standing in his office doorway in front of two students who I didn’t realise were in there. Until I finished telling him the something important.”  
  
“Was the something important ‘I love you’?”  
  
“That was the something important, yeah.”  
  
“Who were the students?”  
  
“I don’t think I teach them. Third year boys.”  
  
“Did one of them have asparagus sprouting out his ears?”  
  
“They’re the ones.”  
  
“Jack and Aubrey,” Emma said, nodding. “Yeah...Yeah, that’s going to be all over the common room before midnight.”  
  
“I thought we were already all over the common room.”  
  
“It’s mostly just rumour at this point,” Emma explained. “Lots of speculation. I haven’t confirmed anything – ”  
  
“I thought you said you were honour-bound.”  
  
“Well, I was to my friends, but it hasn’t spread like wildfire yet. With Jack and Aubrey, though – it’ll hit Ravenclaw by breakfast.”  
  
“Fantastic.”  
  
“It was bound to happen eventually,” Emma offered.  
  
“What, me telling a man I love him while two asparagus-sprouting thirteen year olds listen in?”  
  
“Maybe not precisely that,” Emma conceded. “But still. At least you don’t have to teach either of them. What did Professor Hall say?”  
  
“You can call him Brodie when you’re talking to me.”  
  
Emma wrinkled her nose. “He’s my Head of House, I’m not calling him Br – nope, can’t even finish that. Anyway, what did he say?”  
  
“ _I’m in the middle of a disciplinary meeting right now, Professor Holyoake_.”  
  
“ _Professor Holyoake!_ ” Emma shrieked, promptly incapacitating herself with laughter, and there were tears in her eyes when she finally faced Holly again.  
  
“People do call me that, yes.”  
  
“ _Context_ ,” Emma hooted, and started cackling again. Holly looked around helplessly, spotting the now black-eye-and-asparagus-free Jack and Aubrey skulking back into the common room.  
  
“That’s my cue,” she announced, patting her wheezing sister on the shoulder and making good her escape.  
  
This time she didn’t say anything when Brodie answered the door, just peered surreptitiously around him to make sure he wasn’t holding two consecutive disciplinary meetings.  
  
“There’s nobody in there,” Brodie said eventually.  
  
“I wanted to make sure.”  
  
He was silent, gazing at her with something that set everything within her alight, and she couldn’t break eye contact if she tried. He took her hand, pulling her into his office and kissing her like he had never kissed her before.  
  
“Wow,” she managed when they finally pulled apart, her arms still wrapped around his neck and his still around her waist, holding her so she barely even noticed she was on tiptoes.  
  
“I love you, Holly.”  
  
“I love you too,” she said softly, beaming, and kissed him. “But I can’t stay, Rose is here. I just had to tell you that.”  
  
“Rose is here?”  
  
“Rose is here. She’s got her meeting tomorrow and she needs the kind of comfort only platonic spooning can provide.”  
  
“Her needs are greater than mine,” Brodie decided. “It’s only fair, considering I get to spoon with you every other night.”  
  
“You’re such a Hufflepuff,” she said fondly, kissing him again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
“Give my best to Rose,” he called after her.  
  


* * *


	20. xx. tea and oysters [or] the fork in the road

Holly brought Rose breakfast in bed the morning of her meeting.  
  
“What did I do to deserve a friend like you?” she asked as Holly balanced a tray on her knees and passed her a cup of tea.  
  
“I could ask you the same thing,” Holly said lightly, giving her a quick, tight hug. “I’m teaching periods one and two this morning, but I’ll drop by during break. Your meeting’s at eleven, right?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’ll meet you outside your office at quarter to. Try to stay calm.”  
  
“No promises.”  
  
“ _Try_ ,” Holly said firmly, and left.  
  
Rose picked at her food, only managing half a slice of toast and the cup of tea (Thanks to Lily, she now couldn’t leave any cup of tea without hearing someone in her mind sternly telling her _I brewed it with love_ ) before Vanishing the rest. She wondered if she could somehow skulk into the kitchens without being seen to commiserate with the house elves, decided it wasn’t worth the risk, and Floo’d to James and Julia’s.  
  
James had already left for a business meeting, Julia pottering around in the kitchen in bare feet, leggings and an oversized hoodie from the University of Otago.  
  
“It was my old flatmate’s,” she explained, flapping a bit in the oversized sleeves. “Not a lot of job opportunities in wizarding New Zealand, so most people either go to uni or go overseas. They reckon the couch-burning tradition down south started with some wizard accidentally casting  _incendio_ and the Scarfies just rolled with it.”  
  
Rose looked at her blankly.  
  
“Not that that means anything to you,” Julia continued matter-of-factly. “I suppose you stayed at Hogwarts last night?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Feeling all right? You look a bit pale.”  
  
“I’m fine. Or, as fine as I can be when my meeting’s in less than two hours.”  
  
Julia glanced at the clock. “Eleven?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Do you need anything?”  
  
“Either a timeturner or an alcoholic haze.”  
  
“’Fraid I can’t help you.” She opened the fridge and peered inside. “Have you had breakfast?”  
  
“As much as I’m going to have.”  
  
“Can I ask you a difficult question?”  
  
“Go ahead.”  
  
Julia plopped onto the couch beside Rose with a bowl of cornflakes, drawing her knees up to her chest. “If you don’t get your job back, what happens? You can’t couch surf indefinitely, and the lease on most flats won’t run out till July.”  
  
“I’d probably go back to Albus and Scorpius’s,” Rose said eventually. “Not for long, obviously, their place is tiny, but just until I work something out.”  
  
“We do have a spare room,” Julia offered. “It’s full of James’s shit at the moment, but I keep telling him that he’s got a perfectly functional office at work. You’d only be on a sofa bed – ”  
  
“Still a bed,” Rose said immediately. “How much would you want in rent?”  
  
“Eleven Galleons a week sound reasonable?”  
  
“Yeah, perfect.” Rose took a deep, steadying breath. “This is going to sound horrible, but I  _really_ hope it doesn’t come to that.”  
  
“I know, babe. But the option’s there if you need it.”  
  
“Thanks. Don’t suppose you’ve got any plans for today that I can help you with?”  
  
“Well, if you’re offering,” Julia said slowly, “We do have a flat inspection tomorrow. James and I were going to come home after closing tonight, put on some bad music and clean till three in the morning, but you can help me get some shit out of the way this morning.”  
  
“Can you still put on some bad music?”  
  
“Of  _course_.”  
  
They cleaned the kitchen top to bottom while blasting Celestina Warbeck’s Greatest Hits for over an hour, until it was twenty past ten and Julia surveyed the spotless kitchen with her hands on her hips.  
  
“So, when can you move in?”  
  
“Either never or this afternoon,” Rose replied.  
  
“Coffee before you go?”  
  
“Please.”  
  
At eighteen minutes to eleven she was back at Hogwarts, lingering outside her own office and trying not to think how much longer the PROF. ROSE WEASLEY, POTIONS would be on the door. It seemed unreal to her even now, like being a teacher was some kind of past life and this one had always been filled with couch surfing and uncertainty.  
  
Students who passed her on their way to the Great Hall or the quad for break called out a cheery “Hi, Professor Weasley!” which she was only dimly aware of acknowledging, too busy hoping none of them would ask where she’d been for the past two weeks.  
  
“Sorry, sorry, class ran over,” Holly said breathlessly at ten to. “How are you feeling? I’ll walk you to Vector’s office.”  
  
“Ill,” she replied honestly. “I went to James and Julia’s and cleaned their kitchen.”  
  
“Were either of them there?”  
  
“Julia was. We put on Celestina’s Greatest Hits and she asked me to move in.”  
  
“Was she being serious?”  
  
“Yeah. They’ve got a spare room and it’s mine if – well.”  
  
“It’s good you have the option,” Holly said bracingly as they began climbing the staircase to Vector’s office. “I’m not teaching fourth, so drop by my office at twelve and let me know how it goes.”  
  
“Will do.” They reached Vector’s door, and Holly hugged her.  
  
“Good luck,” she said, and was gone. Rose took a deep breath and stepped inside.  
  
Vector and Herbert were already waiting for her, looking sombre but not half as grave as the night she was suspended. Hoping this was a good sign, she perched on the edge of an armchair, hands clasped in her lap, and waited.  
  
“You may as well make yourself comfortable,” Vector said eventually. “We’ve got a lot to discuss. Tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?”  
  
“No, thanks.”  
  
“We’ve been in contact with the Potions Guild,” Herbert continued. “We’ve held off talking to the Ministry, for reasons I’ll explain in depth later, and we want to talk you through your two options from this point onwards. Our priority is to treat this issue with the seriousness it deserves, without unnecessarily destroying your prospects.”  
  
Rose nodded. “I appreciate that.”  
  
“The Guild has recommended a sanction,” Herbert continued. “A course of action both Septima and I agree would be best. You will be suspended from any work within the Potions industry for five years, after which time you may re-register. You must also complete a six-week course on ethical Potioneering before re-registering.”  
  
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “What about teaching?”  
  
“Your teaching licence will not be affected,” Vector said. “We have decided not to inform the Department of Education at this point, as we feel this does not impact your ability as a teacher. You have proven yourself patient, knowledgeable and approachable in the classroom, and all your students speak highly of you.”  
  
“We believe your issue lies with Potions,” Herbert continued. “I hate to dredge up the past, but in light of what’s happened, your history of Potions abuse had to be taken into consideration. You were lucky to be able to register at all after the incident with Scorpius Malfoy three years ago, and this suggests to both us and the Guild a concerning lack of responsibility with what are, at their core, very volatile and life-altering substances.”  
  
He didn’t seem to expect a reply, for which she was grateful.  
  
“We respect the motivations behind what you did,” Vector continued. “The laws surrounding contraception and access to sexual health services are archaic at best, and we understand that you acted out of concern for your students and a desire to keep them safe. We are currently working with a range of other groups in an effort to reform sexual health and education at Hogwarts, but if this made it to the Ministry and the Board, it would set our efforts back considerably. Hannah Longbottom has the authority to override the law in the name of a student’s best interests – an authority she does not use sparingly when it comes to sexual health – but that rests with her, and her alone.”  
  
“I didn’t know she could do that.”  
  
“We prefer not to broadcast that,” Herbert said. “But in future, we will ensure all staff know that students referred to Hannah will receive whatever care they require, as well as full confidentiality.”  
  
“Good.” Rose nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”  
  
“Regarding your future,” Vector continued. “Herbert tells me your second teaching subject is Defence Against the Dark Arts.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“As I’m sure you’re aware, there are no full-time positions available at Hogwarts for Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Vector said. “We do, however, plan to expand the teaching staff of all core subjects again next year, which will create a new part-time position in each department. It will be twenty hours a week, split into eight teaching hours and twelve for marking and lesson planning. You would take one class each from Asher and Dean. The position is yours if you want it.”  
  
“We understand it’s not ideal,” Herbert continued. “There’s no provision for food and board for part-time positions, and I imagine you would need to take a secondary job to comfortably meet your living expenses.”  
  
“There is, alternatively, a full-time position available in Defence Against the Dark Arts at Durmstrang Institute next year,” Vector said. “It’s a very new subject, so staff from schools outside Dumstrang-zoned countries are highly sought after. If you were to apply, both Herbert and I would provide references.”  
  
“Durmstrang?” Rose repeated. “I don’t even know what language they speak there.”  
  
“The lingua franca of the school is German,” Vector told her. “Durmstrang runs a language immersion programme over the summer for new staff who don’t speak it. I can owl you the details and an application form if you’re interested.”  
  
“If I don’t get the job at Dumstrang, can I still take the part-time one here?”  
  
“We’ll hold it for you until May unless you tell us otherwise,” Vector said. “Durmstrang’s language programme starts in June, so they like to have their staff finalised early. You should hear back from them well before we need to advertise the position.”  
  
“There is another option available,” Herbert continued. “If you didn’t want to take the Guild’s sanction.”  
  
“What option is that?”  
  
“A full-scale investigation,” Vector explained. “Both the Ministry and the Board would be involved. You would essentially be put on trial – meaning the outcome could be anything. The hearing may decide to clear you of any wrongdoing, and you would resume teaching here as normal. The hearing may equally decide to ban you from both the Potions Guild and teaching for life. It’s a gamble I advise against you making.”  
  
“By trial, you mean every element of my life is open to scrutiny.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And the girls I helped, I assume they lose confidentiality.”  
  
“At this point their names are known only to the three of us,” Vector said. “They would be expected to give statements in an investigation.”  
  
“Jade Curlett’s father is on the Board,” Rose said flatly. “I’m not doing that. I don’t care about the gamble, she came to me in confidence and I’m not throwing a fifteen-year-old girl to a panel of conservatives.”  
  
“If you’re sure – ”  
  
“Yeah, I’m sure. My mum’s facing re-election as well this year, I’m not going to jeopardise her chances by going public with this. I’ll take the sanction.”  
  
“We’ve hired a member of the Potions Guild to take over your classes in the interim while we find a permanent replacement,” Vector said. “Your students are in good hands.”  
  
Rose nodded, feeling the lump in her throat grow and the tears well up in her eyes. “What have you told them?” she managed.  
  
“That you’ve had to leave the school for personal reasons. We’ve told the staff the same thing, and it’s a story we’ll back if you have to explain your resignation to Durmstrang. We will be announcing your resignation at a staff meeting tonight, and your students will be informed you’re not coming back for the rest of the year.”  
  
She didn’t trust herself to say anything, just closed her eyes as the reality of it hit her in relentless waves. It was over. She wasn’t coming back.  
  
“We’ll give you the afternoon to clean out your office,” Vector said, her voice softer now. “Do you have somewhere to go?”  
  
She nodded, took a deep breath, and looked up.  
  
“I’m sorry about all of this,” Herbert said eventually. “This is the last thing any of us wanted to happen. I wish you all the best for the future.”  
  
“Thank you,” she murmured, and brushed the tears from her eyes. “Can I – can I get that stuff for Durmstrang from you now?”  
  
“Certainly.” Vector returned to her desk, handing over a crisp pile of parchment marked with the Durmstrang crest. “There’s an English translation charm on it already, which will apply to anything you write on it as well. Don’t try to be overly eloquent in your personal statement, that’s when mistranslations happen.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Good luck,” Vector said after a pause. “I know the Highmaster personally, and my recommendation will serve you well. If your application is unsuccessful, let us know as soon as you can and the part-time position here is yours.”  
  
“Thank you,” she repeated, feeling the tears threaten again, but she forced them back as Herbert and Vector shook her hand.  
  
“All the best, Rose,” Vector said, attempting a smile which Rose couldn’t return. She hurried across the castle, head down, and threw herself into Holly’s waiting arms.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Holly, bless her, figured out what had happened with minimal explanation required. Rose’s tears and the application for Durmstrang gave her an immediate picture, and yes-no questions filled in the blanks.  
  
“I’ll Floo Julia and let her know you’re moving in,” Holly said, disappearing into the fireplace, and two minutes later was returning with the news that Julia was clearing out the spare room as they spoke, and Holly would give her afternoon classes to Septima and help her move in.  
  
“Back in a jiff,” she said, hurrying off to find Vector, and Rose took the opportunity to nip into Holly’s bathroom and clean herself up.  
  
She would be fine. It turned into a mantra that she wasn’t sure if she believed, but if she repeated it often enough it would surely come true.  
  
Three hours later she stood in the middle of James and Julia’s spare bedroom, surrounded by boxes and bags and with fresh tears in her eyes from peeling off the sign from her office door, alone.  
  
“Fuck it,” she murmured, and threw some powder into the Floo.  
  
Hermione Granger’s habit of taking Thursday afternoons to work from home had remained a constant for fifteen years, and Rose was relieved to find her mother emerging from her study at the sound of the Floo.  
  
“Rose? What brings you –” She cut herself off, seeing Rose’s face, and rushed forward to hug her. “Oh sweetheart, what happened?”  
  
She told her mother everything over yet another cup of tea, Hermione’s silence throughout doing nothing to calm her nerves, and she faltered at the end and said, “I couldn’t tell you any earlier, I knew you’d be disappointed – ”  
  
“Disappointed?” Hermione repeated. “Rose, sweetheart. You may have done the wrong thing, but you did it for the right reasons and that’s all I care about. You’re a brave, selfless, compassionate girl, and I could never be disappointed in you.”  
  
She was going to cry again, and Hermione swiftly changed tack. “Are you all right for now? Do you have somewhere to stay? Savings?”  
  
She nodded. “I’ve moved in with James and Julia, and I have decent savings and a job lined up at the bar with James. I’m applying to Durmstrang for Defence Against the Dark Arts next year.”  
  
“Durmstrang? Oh, that’d be good for you, you never managed to go travelling, did you? And they do language immersion programmes up there during summer, German’s always a useful language to have – ”  
  
“I don’t have the job yet,” Rose pointed out.  
  
“You’ll get it,” Hermione said confidently. “I think your father still has some of the material from his Auror training, if you want to brush up on the subject matter. Defence is a new subject at Durmstrang, too, you’ll have a lot of opportunity to shape the curriculum, I think, and really change the image of the school.”  
  
“Is this just you trying to make the best of a bad situation?”  
  
“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I think it’s good for you. A fresh start. I’ve always thought you could do so much more than restricting your career to Hogwarts. The world is your oyster, Rosie. Get out there and change it.”  
  
“That was very stirring,” Rose said after a pause.  
  
“Thank you,” her mother beamed. “I’ve been working a lot on my rhetoric leading up to the election, can you tell?”  
  
“You ruined the moment.”  
  
“Damn. Would you like to stay for dinner? Hugo’s coming over as well.”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
“Good.” She leaned over and hugged Rose, long and tight enough that Rose briefly feared for her ribs.  
  
“Right,” she said briskly. “I need to get a move on with dinner – are you able to pop out and grab a bottle of wine?”  
  
“Are we celebrating that I lost my job?”  
  
“We are celebrating your  _new beginning_ ,” Hermione said firmly. “And having the family together again, because  _someone_ didn’t make it home for Christmas.”  
  
“All right, all right, point taken.” She held up her hands in surrender, smiling, and Apparated into Diagon Alley. James had recently opened an off-licence section of the bar, and she wouldn’t hear the end of it if she didn’t buy from him.  
  
“Ah, Rose, just the person I wanted to see,” James greeted her. “Settle in all right?”  
  
“All my shit’s still in boxes, but yeah. I’m having dinner at my parents’ place tonight.”  
  
“Ah,” James said. “Bottle of wine, then? Ron and Hermione like the Pinot Gris, from memory.”  
  
“Yeah, perfect.”  
  
“It’s on the house,” James continued. “I’m feeling generous. Also – both my little siblings have been in here this evening talking about big announcements, and I was told to pass on the message. Be here at ten o’clock.”  
  
“Okay,” Rose agreed, feeling somewhat bewildered. “I’ll be here. Any ideas on what it’s about?”  
  
“Not a clue,” James said cheerfully. “See you at ten.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Holly had also received the message, and all five of Rose’s friends were milling around the bar, glasses in hand, when she arrived with Hugo in tow at ten to ten.  
  
“I hope nobody minds, I have a tagalong,” she said, gesturing to Hugo.  
  
“What?” Hugo asked. “I had nothing better to do.”  
  
“Hugo, it’s been  _ages_ ,” Lily said, thrilled, and set off a chain of hugging and greeting that lasted several minutes.  
  
“Now that we’re all here,” Albus began, “Scorpius and I have an announcement – ”  
  
“Oh, you’re  _kidding_ ,” Lily said. “ _We_ called this meeting – ”  
  
“No, it was definitely  _us_ – ”  
  
“I heard both of you,” Holly offered.  
  
“Yeah, same,” Rose agreed.  
  
“Eldest goes first,” Albus declared. “Actually – no, wait. You two can go first, and we can steal your thunder.”  
  
“Thanks, Albutt.” Lily turned to smile at Lester, lacing their fingers together. “We’ve set a date for the wedding. What are you all doing on the fifth of August?”  
  
“I dunno,” Scorpius said seriously. “Might watch my best mate get married.”  
  
“I’ll be taking your  _wedding photos_ ,” Holly said excitedly.  
  
“No, you won’t be,” Lily said firmly. “You got out of it with Albus, but you are  _going_ to be my bridesmaid. Rose, you too. I’m not taking no for an answer.”  
  
“Wasn’t going to say no anyway,” Rose said immediately. “Congratulations, you two.”  
  
After the hubbub had died down, Albus spoke. “So, we’re moving to Syria.”  
  
“Ya what, mate?” Lester asked, startled.  
  
“We’re moving to Syria,” Scorpius repeated. “We’ve started a non-profit called the Hopping Pot Foundation, providing Healing to Muggles in need. Syria’s been at war for years, so there’s a real need for it.”  
  
“That’s amazing,” Holly said. “But also not, because you’re moving to  _Syria_.”  
  
“We’ll come back for visits,” Scorpius said. “And probably drag you guys over at some point to help us out. Rose, you took DADA beyond NEWT level, right? You can help us with defensive charms.”  
  
“Yeah, I did,” Rose agreed. “I’m also going to be teaching it next year.”  
  
“Wait, you are? How?”  
  
“Fingers crossed at Durmstrang, otherwise part-time at Hogwarts.”  
  
“You’re going to Durmstrang?” Lily asked. “That’s in  _Norway_. You’re fucking off to  _Norway_.”  
  
“And your brother’s fucking off to the Middle East, but apparently that’s neither here nor there,” Albus commented.  
  
“ _None_ of you should be fucking off  _anywhere_.”  
  
“While we’re on the topic,” Hugo commented, “I’m fucking off to Australia.”  
  
“You  _what?_ ” Rose asked, wheeling around. “When were you going to mention that?”  
  
“I forgot I didn’t already tell you,” Hugo said. “I got a job teaching flying over there. I start in March.”  
  
“How  _dare_ you all,” Lily said. “You better make it back for our wedding.”  
  
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Rose assured her.  
  
Lily glared around the circle until she had exacted similar promises from Hugo and the boys. “Okay, good. I think it’s time to celebrate!”  
  
“Amen!” Scorpius shouted, and in a scene oddly reminiscent of one nearly four years previous, he raised his glass. “To the rest of our lives!”


	21. xxi. legacies [or] the llodewick institute

**Monday, September 13, 2040**  
  
 It was eight forty-three in the morning, and Rose was fidgeting.  
  
“I hope it goes well,” she said anxiously, eyes fixed on the towering building in front of her and the red ribbon fluttering in the gentle breeze.  
  
“You’ll be fine,” Albus told her. “You’re Rose Weasley.”  
  
“Right,” she said determinedly.  
  
“Right,” Albus repeated. “Now get up there.”  
  
She nodded, throwing her shoulders back, chin raised, and strode through the parting crowds.  
  
“She doesn’t look nervous,” Scorpius commented quietly, coming to stand beside him and slipping an arm around his waist.  
  
“She never does. Where are the boys?”  
  
“Left them with their cousins,” Scorpius replied. “They know where we are. I told them they’re not allowed to miss Aunty Rose’s speech.”  
  
“I can’t believe she pulled this off,” Albus said, taking a moment to appreciate the sight before him. The front building loomed ahead, sleek and modern, steel lettering standing out against tinted windows. People milled in the courtyard, forming a crowd in front of the steps Rose was now climbing.  
  
“It’s Rose,” Scorpius reminded him. “There are so many people here, I wasn’t expecting such a turnout.”  
  
“She said she’s had three thousand enrolments,” Albus said.  
  
“Three thousand?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“That’s double the roll of Hogwarts.”  
  
“I know. Nadir, Salim!” he called, spotting his sons in the crowd and waving. “تعال هنا. اسرع وقت”  
  
The boys came running over, chatting away in Arabic about what their cousins were up to, while Scorpius leaned over and murmured in Albus’s ear, “We need to start speaking English more at home, or they’re going to struggle at Hogwarts.”  
  
They had been officially back in England for barely six months after nearly twelve years in Syria, when the Hopping Pot Foundation had grown from their tiny clinic in Damascus to spanning thirteen cities in five countries, attracting Healers from all over the world. Scorpius’s role had slowly become less and less hands-on, his official title morphing into International Director, and he was spending so much time in London liaising with the Ministry over the Patronus Act and St Mungo’s, their official partner, that they decided it made more sense to move back.  
  
Not to mention the fact that Nadir, now ten years old, was determined to go to Hogwarts after hearing so much about it from his fathers. He seemed to change his mind every week about what house he wanted to be in, though because of Holly and Brodie he only ever considered Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.  
  
“They’re bilingual,” Albus murmured in response to Scorpius.  
  
“Mostly bilingual,” Scorpius said.  
  
“Bilingual enough,” Albus conceded. “They’re immersed in English now, though, and they’re picking it up quickly enough. Nadir’s got another year before he goes.”  
  
Their twelve years in Syria had been filled with surprises (Nadir and Salim being but two examples) but one of the biggest had been that it was Albus who took to Arabic like a fish to water, while his linguist husband struggled with it for years. Scorpius was a scholar of languages rather than a speaker of them, and his Arabic was stiff and formal, meticulously composed and dictionary-defined. Albus learnt his through conversation, refusing the help of interpreters after six months, and could switch easily between half a dozen different dialects. He was the one who got to know the boys, back when they were just two tiny and terrified patients and the question of adoption had never crossed his mind, and who later wrestled with the Syrian Ministry of Magic when they wanted to put the boys in an orphanage until they were old enough for school. The boys’ guardian, a Muggle aunt in a refugee camp with seven other mouths to feed, had begged Albus to take them the moment she learnt he was a wizard.  
  
Seven years later and Salim was tugging impatiently on the hem of his shirt, telling him he couldn’t see Aunty Rose, and Albus hoisted him up to ride on his shoulders. Scorpius had conjured a little stool for Nadir.  
  
It was nine o’clock, and Rose stepped onto a makeshift podium, cast  _sonorous_ , and even from a distance Albus could see her brimming with pride.  
  
“Good morning,” she called, and a hush descended across the courtyard, “To students, staff, press – ” here, she nodded at the knot of reporters at the base of the steps – “and members of the public. My name is Rose Weasley, the Vice-Chancellor, and I’d like to extend a warm welcome to you all to the official opening of the Llodewick Institute.”  
  
There was a chorus of applause, and Rose’s smile grew as she waited for it to die down. “The Llodewick Institute is the first of its kind,” she continued. “A state-of-the-art magical research and tertiary education facility, modelled on the universities of the Muggle world. We are proud to claim among our lecturers and research staff a number of world-leading experts, including former Hogwarts headmistress Septima Vector in the School of Arithmancy and Numerology, entrepreneur Ella Forbes-Martin in Magical Engineering, attorney Lillian Raine in the School of Law, and co-founder of the Hopping Pot Foundation, Albus Potter, in the Department of Psychology.”  
  
“Dad!” Salim said excitedly from above, and Albus patted his knee absently.  
  
“The Llodewick Institute is named for my long-time mentor, teacher and friend, Professor Herbert Llodewick. Many of you will have known him as the Potions Master of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic from 1985 to 2002, or as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 2002 to 2031. His final request to me before he passed away last year was that I name one of the buildings at my new university after him. I think it’s fair to say that I went above and beyond his request, as he so often went above and beyond for his students.”  
  
There was a brief smattering of applause, and Rose continued. “It is my fervent wish that the Llodewick Institute, like its namesake, will inspire and educate generations of sorcerers across all fields to achieve greater things, chase after new discoveries, and push the very limits of possibility. To all of you, but particularly to our new students, I invite you to share in our vision with us. Thank you.”  
  
She turned away, severing the giant red ribbon with one quick wave of her wand, and stepped down from the podium to raucous applause.  
  
The crowd began to disperse almost immediately, and Albus and his family made a beeline for Rose. They weren’t the only ones – the second Rose was finished shaking hands with various officials, her friends and family converged upon her and she promptly burst into tears.  
  
“I can’t believe it’s actually happening,” she cried into Holly’s hair. “I  _founded_ a  _university_.”  
  
“Yes, you did,” Holly said patiently, patting her on the back. “Okay, Vice-Chancellor, chin up.”  
  
Albus offered her tissues.  
  
“Since when are you so good at conjuring?” Rose asked, taking them and dabbing her eyes.  
  
“Since I became a dad,” he replied matter-of-factly. “What’s the schedule for the morning, then? I’m teaching PSYC101 at eleven.”  
  
“I’ve got a department meeting then too,” Rose said. “And a class at one. God, I never thought I’d be back teaching Potions again.”  
  
“Different kind of first years,” Albus commented. “Oh God, don’t cry again.”  
  
“She’s done,” Holly assured him. “Shall we get coffee? I need to see this  _cafe you named after me._ ”  
  
“I’m not directly responsible for the naming of that,” Rose told her. “I just mentioned to the vendor that I’d really like to honour my friend Holly, if I could, and I...er, said that you were really sweet.”  
  
They were striding through the main building now in a loud, wide phalanx down the spacious hallway, before Rose veered off in a sharp left and they found themselves in the aforementioned cafe.  
  
“Milk and Holly,” Albus read slowly.  
  
“Yeah,” Rose said sheepishly. “I think they were going for  _milk and honey_ , you know – ”  
  
“I love it,” Holly said. “Do I get free coffee here because it’s named after me? I hope so. Sit down, sit down, let’s  _catch up_. It’s been ages.”  
  
“Only because a couple of certain someones never leave Hogsmeade,” Scorpius pointed out.  
  
“Try being Headmaster of Hogwarts and see how often you make it down to the New Quarter for a beer,” Brodie shot back.  
  
“Before you boys get into a pissing contest about your commitments,” Rose interrupted, “I think we should – ”  
  
“Dad,” Salim said, “What is pissing?”  
  
“A rude word,” Albus replied, “That your Aunty Rose shouldn’t have said.”  
  
“Oh.” Salim nodded to himself, and Rose looked sheepish.  
  
“Anyway, I think we should – where are the Raines? We lost the Raines.”  
  
The Raines arrived a few moments later, Lily plopping into the seat next to Albus.  
  
“Hi, Albutt,” she said cheerfully, and handed him an infant.  
  
“You’re thirty-three,” he reminded her. “You’re a mother, you’re a lawyer, and now you’re a lecturer. You can stop calling me Albutt.”  
  
“Never,” she said, and leaned over to grin at the boys. “Hi Salim, Hi Nadir.”  
  
“Hello, Aunty Lily,” they chorused.  
  
“James and Julia are coming too, by the way,” she added to Albus.  
  
“Will Aroha and Rawiri be also coming?” Nadir asked eagerly.  
  
“ _Also be coming,_ ” Scorpius corrected.  
  
“Will Aroha and Rawiri also be coming?”  
  
“Aroha’s at school, remember?” Lily asked. “We all saw her leave on the train. But Rawiri’s coming.”  
  
Albus zoned out of the conversation briefly to pull faces at his delighted niece. Alice was Lester and Lily’s youngest, a chubby, cheerful thirteen-month-old with her grandad’s green eyes, and she was Albus’s favourite of his nieces and nephews. Mainly because she was too young to talk.  
  
“You’re going to kidnap her one day,” Lily commented, breaking into Albus’s reverie.  
  
“It’s not kidnapping if she’s family.”  
  
“Don’t kidnap my daughter,” Lester called from a few seats down.  
  
In the chaos surrounding the Raines’ arrival, Holly and Brodie had apparently ordered a round of coffees for everyone.  
  
“She didn’t get a discount for being the eponymous Holly,” Brodie informed them, passing out the coffee. “Disappointing.”  
  
“Very disappointing,” Holly agreed, sitting across from Albus and holding out her arms. “Pass the baby?”  
  
“Get your own,” Albus said, handing her over.  
  
“We don’t need our own, we just steal everybody else’s. Don’t we, Alice?”  
  
“Don’t steal my daughter,” Lester said, not even bothering to look over. It struck Albus that he had probably been saying that for a long time to various friends and family, considering he had four of them.  
  
The birth of the Raine twins six years earlier gave truth to the maxim “Don’t let Potters name your kids” (first uttered by Ron Weasley after Albus himself was born) when an exhausted Lily apparently saw no problem in calling them  _Summer and Autumn Raine._  Albus, safe in the knowledge that he a) was very much a victim of Potter Naming Syndrome and b) did not actually have to name his own children, mocked Lily relentlessly with a series of weather-related puns. To her credit, she had spent a lot more time naming Darcy and Alice, seeking input from everyone she spoke to, and Albus was very proud to claim responsibility for both the girls’ middle names (after, of course, a bunch of ridiculous suggestions that included Winter, Spring and Torrential).  
  
“Nobody’s stealing anyone’s daughter,” Rose said. “Anyway. A toast. To new beginnings.”  
  
“We have had so many of those,” Scorpius commented, but raised his coffee mug anyway. “To the newest of the new beginnings.”  
  
“To the Llodewick Institute,” Holly summarised, and they clinked mugs cautiously.  
  
“It’s not the same with coffee,” Scorpius said.  
  
“Nobody’s drinking on campus at nine thirty in the morning,” Rose pointed out. “Not on the first day, anyway.”  
  
“That’d be a good start to the semester,” Albus grinned. “But seriously, Rose, you’ve achieved so much here. I’m really proud of you.”  
  
“Oh, stop,” she said, and hid behind her cappuccino.  
  
To say that Rose had had a varied career would be something of an understatement. She had taught at Durmstrang for three years, becoming fluent in German and Norwegian, before spending a year liaising with the Norwegian Ministry to develop their Auror training programme. From there she had moved back to England, entering the Department of Education within the British Ministry, and with her unique blend of efficiency, audacity and plain stubbornness had forced reforms through the Hogwarts board regarding the provision of sexual and mental health services within the school, working in tandem with Holly. She completed her Potioneering ethics programme, made friends with her tutors, and began freelance Potions research on the side the moment her five-year ban period lifted. She stayed at the Ministry for another three years, becoming increasingly disillusioned with the education system and particularly the lack of opportunities for further study, and had quit the Ministry four years ago to pursue full-time Potions research and start looking into the possibility of a magical university.  
  
Now here she was – and here  _Albus_ was, with the opportunity to pursue Psychology on an academic level, liaise with Muggle universities, get in touch with Muggle research, and teach a new, multi-faceted approach to mental health to students at St Mungo’s School of Healing, which had attached itself to the Llodewick Institute. His time in Syria had felt like things were finally, slowly falling into place after a lifetime of trying to make himself fit where he didn’t, taking subjects and finding a career that seemed to come close enough to his true passions while never quite aligning with them. His work in Syria had been based around trauma, PTSD; creating systems of support and recovery that were not reliant on Muggles having constant access to potions, and he thrived on the challenges presented by combining magical and Muggle epistemologies. Coming back to England after a decade of dreaming in Arabic had cast him adrift, facing his old, thankless job on the Janus Thickey Ward, when Rose approached him asking if he would like to head up the new Department of Psychology at Llodewick.  
  
“That depends,” he’d began, old insecurities rearing their ugly heads, “On whether you actually think I’d be any good at it, or you’re just asking because we’re family.”  
  
“I’m asking you,” she’d said, hands on hips, “Because I want this university to be a world leader in innovation and research, and because you’re apparently the only damn Healer in the world willing to explore Muggle theories and approaches to mental health. Which makes you the best man for the job, so get your head out of your arse and come work for me.”  
  
“Only if you never call yourself my  _boss_ ,” he’d said, knowing she would anyway.  
  
“Weasleys!” a loud voice called, and moments later a jovial James pulled up chairs for himself, Julia and Rawiri. “And Raines, and Pottfoys – ”  
  
“That is not our name,” Scorpius said.  
  
“And Halls,” James concluded, ignoring him.  
  
“Holyoake-Hall,” Holly corrected.  
  
“I still don’t understand why you did that,” Albus said. “ _Holly Helen Holyoake-Hall_.”  
  
Holly shrugged. “I saw the opportunity and I took it.”  
  
“She gets some weird looks every time she has to fill out forms though,” Brodie conceded. “The first article she sent into  _Arithmancy Annual_ she had to send a copy of her ID with it because they thought she was using a really bad pseudonym.”  
  
“Which I still find offensive, by the way,” Holly said huffily. “Not least because they were  _perfectly aware_  the professor of Arithmancy at Hogwarts is an H. Holyoake.”  
  
“Speaking of professors and Hogwarts and all the rest of it,” James began casually, “How’s my daughter doing?”  
  
“Well, I haven’t seen her in my office yet, so apparently she’s behaving herself,” Brodie said.  
  
Holly elbowed him. “Don’t be mean. She’s fine, James, we’ve been keeping an eye on her for you. She’s made tonnes of friends already and she has a real aptitude for Transfiguration according to Teddy.”  
  
“She’s said as much in her letters,” Julia agreed. “But we wanted to make sure she’s not just telling fibs so we don’t worry about her.”  
  
“Aroha’s a happy kid,” Brodie said firmly. “And if she wasn’t, we’d tell you.”  
  
“Is Aroha a Hufflepuff?” Nadir asked.  
  
“Yes, she is.”  
  
“I would like to be Hufflepuff,” he decided. “May I be Hufflepuff please?”  
  
“Not Ravenclaw like your dads?” Holly asked.  
  
Nadir twisted in his seat to look Albus and Scorpius over. “No. انا اسفة.”  
  
“I don’t like that look,” Albus murmured.  
  
“I don’t like that apology,” Scorpius whispered back. “That’s Nadir-speak for ‘I no longer look up to you, I don’t want to be in your Hogwarts house, and you’re both dead to me.’”  
  
“ _Hufflepuff_ , though.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Do you think he is a Hufflepuff?”  
  
They fell into silence, considering this.  
  
“Well,” Scorpius whispered, “He did  _apologise_ for not wanting to be in our house.”  
  
“That wasn’t kindness, that was  _sass_. Bet you he’s a Slytherin.”  
  
“Hmm,” Scorpius said. “Lester seems to think he’s a Hufflepuff too, because he’s polite.”  
  
“He’s only polite in English.”  
  
“That’s what I told Lester.”  
  
Nadir and Salim were now engrossed in conversation with Rawiri.  
  
“Say ‘butt’ in Arabic,” Albus heard Rawiri say.  
  
“ _Rawiri_ ,” Julia hissed, but Nadir had already told him how to say ‘I am an idiot’ instead. Rawiri repeated it in delight, and all three boys fell about laughing.  
  
“Slytherin,” Albus decided.  
  
“Slytherin,” Scorpius agreed.  
  
“We’re still watching the boys today, right?” Julia asked.  
  
“I’d hope so,” Albus replied. “I think they’d get terribly bored in my lecture.”  
  
“Good,” James said. “Because Rawiri hasn’t shut up about it all day. He’s got a  _science project_ he needs their help with, apparently. I’ve put an anti-explosive ward on his bedroom.”  
  
“I’m surprised you didn’t have one on there already.”  
  
“It wore off.”  
  
“Oh, shoot,” Lily muttered suddenly beside him. “I’m teaching LAWS101 at ten – who’s got Alice? Brodie? Good. I’ll see you at home,” she added to Lester, giving him a swift peck on the lips as she shrugged on her coat. “Wish me luck.”  
  
“Good luck!” the table chorused as she hurried away, and Albus took the opportunity to catch up with Lester.  
  
“Take this,” he said first, and dumped three-year-old Darcy into Albus’s lap. “Don’t let her eat the sugar packets.”  
  
“So how’s work?” Albus asked, taking Darcy’s chubby little hands in his own and holding them by her sides.  
  
“Good, good. We’re having to adjust a bit to not having Ella around, but we’re managing. Waiting on the patent for what’s essentially a 3D printer for people who aren’t very good at conjuring.”  
  
“What are you working on next?”  
  
Lester shrugged. “We always take a bit of a break when we first file a patent, there’s a lot of marketing work to be done and none of us really have any ideas. Get back to me in two weeks and I’ll probably have half a dozen.”  
  
“Well, you haven’t run out yet.”  
  
“Long may that continue. Looking forward to your first lecture?”  
  
“I’m looking forward to about six weeks from now when I find my feet, but yeah.”  
  
“It’ll take you less than six weeks,” Lester said. “But your students are probably thinking exactly the same thing, if that helps. None of them have a clue what university is like, unless they’re Muggleborns and have siblings.”  
  
“True,” Albus conceded. “I should probably go over my notes, I dashed them out in a bit of a rush last night because I got distracted by Muggle journals. Have you heard of JSTOR?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Don’t get him started,” Scorpius advised, tuning into the conversation. “Are we off, then?”  
  
“Reckon so.” Albus stood, setting Darcy on the ground behind Lester. “It was good catching up with you all. Nadir, Salim, be good.”  
  
“We should probably be off too,” Brodie said reluctantly. “I don’t like leaving Hogwarts unsupervised for too long, a lot can happen in two hours.”  
  
They parted ways after a chorus of goodbyes, Albus finding the still-unfamiliar path to his new office and unlocking the door. Scorpius followed him inside.  
  
“Don’t you have to go to work?”  
  
“I told them I wouldn’t be in till eleven thirty,” Scorpius replied, tugging him closer. “Have to wish my husband good luck on his first day as a  _lecturer_.”  
  
“I definitely need luck,” Albus agreed. “As much luck as you can give me, really.”  
  
Scorpius kissed him, soft and slow and intoxicating, one hand drifting to his waist and the other tilting his chin upwards. “That the luck you were looking for?”  
  
“Mmm,” Albus agreed. “Bit more, though.”  
  
He lost track of the time they spent there, whispering nonsense to each other with the smell of wet paint and new wood in their nostrils, exchanging kisses and caresses like the lovestruck teenagers they had once been, until Scorpius looked up and asked, “Do you ever look around and realise that you’ve made it?”  
  
“By ‘ever’ you mean right now?”  
  
“Yeah. Here you are in an office with your name on it, and the dream job you never thought you would have, a devoted father to our perfect sons. You made it.”  
  
“ _We_ made it,” Albus corrected. “I appreciate the flattery, but we very definitely  _both_ made it.”  
  
“I suppose Rose made it as well,” Scorpius said thoughtfully. “Just because I’m feeling generous.”  
  
“And Holly,” Albus conceded. “Not that there was ever any doubt. And Brodie, too.”  
  
“Lester and Lily,” Scorpius added.  
  
“Naming mishaps aside,” he agreed. “Yeah, them too.”  
  
“We all made it,” Scorpius summarised. “Unless we haven’t stopped making it yet and shit just keeps getting better.”  
  
“We’ve made it for now,” Albus decided. “Pending further investigation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: تعال هنا. اسرع وقت: Come here, quickly  
> انا اسفة: I'm sorry  
> (I got both of these from Google Translate so I apologise in advance if they're wrong)
> 
> a thousand apologies for taking SO long to upload this story, that's totally my bad (i forgot i was cross-posting here for a while). if you're still interested in this 'verse, i have a new novel-length instalment set in the next-next gen with some of the kids mentioned in this final chapter. keep an eye out for it here or at archive.hpfanfictalk.com - my penname over there is sapphicsunrise


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